Yushu
by Vindalootoo
Summary: Four years after the anime, Yuki faces one final demon from the past. Chapter Thirteen: Epilogue: Just Shut Up and Kiss Me. COMPLETE!
1. Toys for Tots

Disclaimer: Gravitation is the brainchild and property of Maki Murakami. I'm only borrowing her characters and world for a short, non-profit interlude.

After four years, Eiri and Shu have settled into something approaching a stable relationship...when a furry wrench worms its way into the picture, forcing them to face one final demon.

Rated for language and implied violence.

Dedication: to my own Yushu, whose first night with me was just like this---well, except for the Yuki-part. (sigh...)

**Yushu**

by Vindaloo

Chapter One:** Toys for Tots**

"I brought you something."

Shindou Shuuichi's improbably large eyes went round with anticipation, the way they would at the merest hint of a surprise...even on those occasions when he knew full well the 'surprise' was coming _and_ what that 'surprise' was.

This time, however, it _would_ be a surprise, which, after four years together, was saying something.

Yuki Eiri reached into his coat and pulled out the squirming, hissing bit of black fluff. Two yellow eyes, one with a large spot of deep golden brown, appeared in the black, staring across at the wide purple ones.

Shuuichi blinked first and the purple stare shifted to Eiri's face. "For me? To _keep?_"

Eiri nodded and handed the kitten over. "Careful." He warned, but did Shuuichi listen? Of course not. The kitten was cupped in gentle hands and hugged close.

With a hiss and a squeal the kitten squirmed free, crawling up Shuuichi's arm, across his shoulders, and up to his head, from which the fur ball launched itself for the nearest counter top.

Five minutes later, the idiot had chased the kitten through every room, across every counter top, and under and over every stick of furniture in the house. Tears running down his face, Shuuichi collapsed face-down on the couch beside Eiri, back heaving in exhaustion.

The kitten continued to run.

"He hates me!" Shuuichi wailed.

Twenty-three, a multi-millionaire pop-star, a four year veteran of one of humanity's more tumultuous love affairs, and he was still a brat.

Which suited his only marginally-mellowed romance author partner just fine. With luck, twenty years down the line he'd still be a brat and keeping them both young. He'd long since given up the notion of ditching the punk. Oh, he still threw him out regularly—for old time's sake—and he'd spend the night with his best friend, Nakano Hiroshi, and be back the next day for some fucking fantastic make-up sex.

Sometimes, he suspected, Shuuichi deliberately incited him, just for that purpose.

Not that he was objecting.

"He hates me, hehatesme, hehatesme..."

Eiri ruffled the pink hair and returning to his evening paper said, without the slightest sympathy, "Just wait."

Waiting was not his Shu's strongest suit. He continued whimpering into his crossed arms and Eiri rather absently stroked his hair and back, saying not a word as the kitten quit bouncing off walls and hid under the couch. He winced at the sound of tiny claws in leather coming from the back of his expensive couch, but a corner of the eye glance intercepted a golden gaze peering over the black leather, followed moments later by a small black shadow. The kitten crouched there, staring, then slid down the cushion and up onto Shu's back. Shuuichi, typically oblivious, continued to sniffle, his back still heaving. The kitten rode his back up and down several times, then stretched and began kneading its claws (sharp little pins that would find their way through far thicker clothing than Shuuichi's thin tee) on its newfound perch.

Amazingly, ticklish Shuuichi's reaction was to freeze rather than climb the walls.

"Very good," Eiri murmured, and Shu's sparkling eyes appeared over the top of his forearm.

Rather like the kitten. So _very_ like the kitten, truth to tell. For all their coloring was polar opposite, they were two of a kind. He'd known that the moment the idiot kitten had bullied its way into his coat pocket, then clung like velcro when he'd tried to extract him.

Rather like Shuuichi, in the early days, every time he'd tried to kick him out.

"Slow and easy, Shu-chan, slow and easy. He's a bit skittish, but he'll come around."

Shuuichi's eyes closed, his head dropped back to his crossed arms.

"Where'd you find him?" he asked on a whispered breath.

"The mall," Eiri said, and scanned another headline. "One of hundreds being given away every year, thanks to people who don't take responsibility for neutering, but this little firecracker had escaped and led his idiot owners a merry chase through several stores. I was signing some bookstore's stock, and the little monkey leapt up on the table and invited himself into the pocket of my coat. I couldn't very well reject such a wanton appeal, besides...he...reminded me of someone I know...so...hell, so here you are. Happy unbirthday."

"Huh?" Another flash of purple, and he pushed the brat's head back down, giving the muscles a casual massage.

"God, I have to do something about your education."

"Oh. Book ref?"

"Yeah, brat, book ref."

The kitten had settled into a ball on Shuuichi's back, and Shuuichi turned his head to rest it sideways on his arms so he could look up at him.

"Who'd he remind you of, Yuki?"

He choked, thinking of the chase he'd just witnessed. "Gee, brat, I just can't quite put my finger on it."

The irony flew right over the pink head.

"Well, whoever it was, thank you. I've ..."

The thought trailed off in pink-cheeked embarrassment, but Eiri knew the rest. Shuuichi couldn't pass a pet store or a zoo without turning in. Every kitten and puppy had to be stroked and admired...and longed for, its future agonized over. Personally, he'd never had the urge; besides, now he had Shuuichi, which (he passed his hand again over the soft hair) was much the same, but Shuuichi only had him, and he wasn't exactly soft and cuddly material. Not to mention, all too often there wasn't even him. He was an author long before he was Shuuichi's lover and when the words were flowing, he'd work late into the night to take advantage of the muse; when a block had him in its grip, he'd work late into the night trying for one good sentence.

Which meant lots of nights alone, sitting on the couch watching television, for Shuuichi. Sure he and his band mates would take the occasional club night, but overall, it had to be painfully lonely. Shuuichi didn't complain nearly as much as he had a right to, for all Eiri dutifully played his expected role and pretended to be annoyed when he did, but he hoped the kitten would at least help mitigate the loneliness.

"Just one thing."

"Hmmm...?" It was a sleepy, drifting sound, and he nudged Shuuichi's ribs, making him jump. The kitten sprang free, hissing in protest and sprouting pins, and Shuuichi sprang up, hissing in protest. He met the outraged purple gaze calmly, thankful that, physiologically-speaking, Shuuichi was incapable of emulating the kitten any further.

"Litterbox. Food bowl. In the car. All yours." He caught Shuuichi's chin and leaned over to press his lips to the half-open mouth before heading for his office to get back to work. "Have fun, brat."

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The first night nearly brought the demise of said kitten. The whole damned night, it did nothing but wander the house, crying at the top of its lungs. Eiri wouldn't have thought something that small could produce a sound that large.

But then he reminded himself of the person he lived with and officially revised that fundamental law of the universe.

_Who'd he remind you of, Yuki?_

He stifled a snort of laughter and pulled the desolate Shuuichi into bed. The baka-brat was frozen through, having spent the previous half hour lying on the hardwood floor, trying to coax the kitten out from under the bed.

Personally, he'd had a far more interesting notion of how to scare the furry nuisance out, a notion which involved a whole lot of gratitude on Shuuichi's part (which was almost as good as making-up), a notion it was now far too late to employ.

Besides, the rotten little beast had killed the mood.

"He's so unhappy," Shuuichi said on a sniff, and he buried his head in Eiri's neck, hands pressed over his ears.

"He'll settle down. Give him time. Probably misses his brothers and sisters."

"But I _told_ him, _we're_ his family now." One hand deserted its assigned ear to find a home in Shuuichi's mouth.

He claimed the hand for examination: there'd been more than one hissing objection during Shuuichi's rescue attempts. "Probably doesn't speak Shuuichi very well yet. Give him time, brat, give him time."

Sure enough, there were kitten scratches all over the slender fingers. He let his mouth do a little spiritual healing, kissing each tiny wound, then the palm before tucking the hand into the space between them and hugging Shuuichi close.

It was, he told himself, a gesture designed solely to quiet Shuuichi down so they could both get some sleep. It had, he told himself, nothing to do with the feel of that slender body molding to his or the distinctive scent of an exhausted Shuuichi. Satisfaction, he told himself, was all he felt when Shuuichi's breathing shifted rhythm as he slipped toward sleep.

Himself laughed derisively. It had taken the better part of four years, but Shuuichi had finally taught him to appreciate the fine art of ... god help him ... cuddling.

The kitten yowled on.

And he was wide awake.

God, what he'd give for a cigarette right now. The pack mocked him, just beyond reach on the far side of his pink fluffball. Mocked him. Called his name. If he reached, it would wake Shuuichi up; if he didn't...if he didn't, damned if the DTs wouldn't wake the brat up anyway.

He stared at the pack, a shadow on the shadow of the nightstand in the ambient light from the window, trying to will the damn thing within reach, thinking all the time how pathetic that craving made the so-cool Yuki Eiri.

Silence. The yowling had ended at last. A scratching, scrambling sound from the bottom of the bed and those yellow button eyes appeared, seeming to glow in the dark.

"Hello, demon cat," he murmured, and as if delighted at his assessment, the demon cat bounded up the length of the bed to curl up on Shuuichi's pillow, purring.

Ah, saved by the demon feline.

"Hey, moron," he murmured, and moved the arm held captive beneath Shuuichi. A caught breath and whimpering complaint assured him luck continued to be on his side: Shuuichi was still in the early stages of sleep; another few minutes and a train crashing into the next room wouldn't phase him.

"Ne, Yu ...?"

"You've got company. Hold still, and listen."

A slow smile appeared beneath his sleep-heavy lids. (God, he was a sexy brat.) Very slowly, he eased around to face the kitten, and began stroking the tiny head with one oh-so-careful fingertip. The kitten, spotting the dark cavern beneath Shuuichi's lifted arm, headed immediately for cover, curling up, from the feel against the arm still surrounding Shuuichi, inside the folds of Shuuichi's loose, scoop-necked tee-shirt, pressing against Shuuichi's chest.

Shuuichi cooed, curling in turn around the tiny furball.

Eiri pulled both arms free, stretching a back gone stiff.

"Hey brat, before you cheat on me with the furball, hand me the pack and lighter, would you?"

The cooing paused, Shuuichi's shoulder heaved in a sigh, and, careful not to disturb the kitten, his bare arm slipped free of the covers and snagged the items in question, handing them back over his shoulder.

"Thanks." Yuki tapped the pack, retrieved a cigarette with his lips, and lit, all in a smooth, practiced sequence that was easier, in someways, than breathing.

He inhaled, felt the drug permeate his system, coating his nerves, stopping those incipient tremors. He was halfway through before Shuuichi's voice whispered from the pocket of pink hair and black fur, "I wish you wouldn't."

Not the first time Shuuichi had made the request, but the hint of tears in his voice was new.

"I'll quit. Someday."

"I...I smell it. Down here under the covers. It...it can't be good for Yushu."

"Yushu. Is that what you plan to call him?"

"Aa."

"Good name. —He'll live."

A sniff, a slight curling of that upper shoulder, a nearly inaudible, "But for how long?"

He felt the irritation rise, knowing where this conversation was headed, though _Shuuichi,_ do him credit,had never taken it there. "Long enough."

Shuuichi shuddered, and clammed up. Damn it. He stubbed the cigarette out—he'd had enough, and worked his way down the pillow, wrapping himself around Shuuichi's hunched back.

"There. Happy?"

A pause, then a tiny nod of the head in front of his nose, a whispered, "Aa."

But that whisper still held a hint of tears. Damn it, the kitten was supposed to make him happy.

"I...I just don't want to lose him, Yuki. Not for a long...long time."

And it wasn't the kitten he meant.

He wasn't stupid. He knew an early grave awaited him if he didn't give up the damned things, but it had never been an issue before...before Shuuichi. He was a self-centered bastard. Always had been. He'd indulged his cravings and cultivated the distance it put between him and unwanted attention. But Shuuichi had pushed right past the smoke and the chilly facade and forced him to think beyond the next deadline.

Even beyond the threat to his own future, he knew it created the worst possible environment for a singer, particularly the sweet, clear-voiced Shuuichi. Just his luck to fall for someone like Shuuichi. Mick Jagger...now his voice might be improved by living with Yuki Eiri. But the very voice that drove that fucking self-centered bastard absolutely bug-fuck crazy would eventually suffer, possibly even die, living with that same fucking, self-centered, bastard.

And that self-centered, over-sexed bastard knew now, beyond a shadow of any doubt, that he did, indeed, want to remain with Shindou Shuuichi for the rest of his life.

Having admitted that to himself, he had to acknowledge the reality of that desire, and having acknowledged, the next step, whispered into the strawberry-scented hair, came surprisingly easily.

"I'll try, Shuuichi. I...damned if I'll promise anything, but I _will _try."

Shuuichi's fingers stroked the arm Eiri had wrapped around his chest, his lips found and caressed the hand attached to that arm. "I love you, Yuki."

My thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed. If you did, I'd love to hear from you, if you didn't, would appreciate knowing what I can do to improve. I hope to update regularly...like a couple of times a week.

Next up: Sometimes, It's Not Enough: Yuki attempts to quit.

Virtual hugs and pocky to all---Vin


	2. Sometimes It's Not Enough

Disclaimer: Gravitation and its wonderful characters are the property of its brilliant creator, Maki Murikami. I'm only borrowing them.

**A/N:** I fear I've lulled everyone into a false sense of security with part one, so thought I'd better post part two quickly before you all got too settled into light and fluffy mode. This is, actually, a fairly serious story. It's rated T for a reason, and if at any point someone who understands the rating system better than I thinks I should move it to M, I'd appreciate a heads up. Hope you still enjoy it!

My thanks to those of you who've put me on favorites lists! That's so exciting, and a great honor. Now...on to the story:

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**Yushu**

by Vindalootoo

Chapter 2: **Sometimes It's Not Enough**

_I'll try, Shuuichi...I will try..._

Had it really only been a month since Yuki had made that non-promise?

"Shuuichi? Hey, Shu, you in here?"

Shuuichi's hand jerked, smearing makeup across his mouth. He whispered a curse and tried to scrub his lips free of the greasy stuff, succeeding only in reopening his cut lip before Hiro appeared in the door of the lounge.

"There you are! Hey, moron, they're looking for you in makeup. Thirty minutes to show...Shit, are you bleeding? What happened.?"

"Nothing." He ducked his head, trying to avoid his best friend's hand, but those long, strong guitarist's fingers caught his chin and turned him to the light.

Hiro sucked in his breath. "Shuuichi,...who hit you?"

"I told you, it's nothing." He pulled free and turned back to the mirror, doing his best to restore the damage. "And I'll do my own makeup, thanks."

Hiro stared at his mirrored face. "It was Yuki-san, wasn't it."

"No!"

Hiro just stared and he knew there was no point in trying to avoid the truth.

"Yeah." He felt his whole body slump and leaving the makeup-strewn counter, he retreated to the lounge, where he slumped onto the couch. "But it's not his fault, Hiro. Truly it's not. He's...he's trying so hard, and it's interfering so bad with his work, and he's had to go back on his meds, and they've gone all wrong and he gets—"

"Stop it! Stop making excuses for him!"

"I'm _not._ It's his nightmares, don't you see?"

"Shit, Shu, quit sleeping with him!"

"I can't do that."

"I didn't say quit fucking, I said stop sleeping."

"No. I won't desert him."

"Lots of couples sleep in separate rooms."

"He needs me. Now more than ever."

"Tell him to get a shrink."

"He has one. She's not what he needs."

"What's that? A punching bag?"

"It's not like that."

"No?"

"Dammit, Hiro, you don't understand. He's doing it for me."

"Doing _what?_"

"Trying to quit smoking."

If he weren't feeling so rotten, Hiro's drop-jawed look would have made him laugh. Hiro, whose own smoking addiction was almost as bad as Yuki's. Hiro, who had tried (and failed) several times to quit.

"He's tried everything...Cold turkey, patches, gum, hypnosis...alcohol." Shuuichi shivered, remembering that handful of days. According to Yuki, the garbage his fingers had produced then would have embarrassed a horny thirteen year old. That was when he tried replacing smoking with sex, but when the nicotine withdrawal resulted in impotence for him and bruises for Shuuichi, he shoved his "annoying brat" out and locked the door.

"Damn," Hiro said softly and gently turned Shuuichi to face him. His thumb brushed lightly over the swollen lip, as though trying to erase it, then left his face to draw him into a warm embrace. "I'm so sorry, Shu."

He gave in to instinct at last and hugged Hiro as tight as he could, whispering into his best friend's thin chest, "He'll get better, Hiro. I _know_ he will."

"Yeah, he's nothing if not stubborn, but _man_, has he got _issues._" Hiro began to sway, an easy motion that was their time-honored method for soothing Shuuichi in his rare moments of stage fright. Shuuichi welcomed the movement and felt his spine relaxing. "But...shit, be careful, will you? And for god's sake, don't let him touch you tonight. We have a photoshoot tomorrow for the next album cover, remember?"

He nodded against Hiro's chest.

"And for the love of music and your fans, go into makeup and let the _experts_ hide those bruises, okay?"

He shook his head violently.

"Don't worry, buddy, I'll cover for you." A soft chuckle from over his head. "Not the first time I've busted your lip. Won't be the last."

He sighed and gave his friend a final squeeze. "What would I do without you?"

"Sink."

"Yeah."

"So start swimming, will you?"

"I'll try. Love you."

"Yeah. Me, too."

✴✴✴

_Don't let him touch you..._

Easier said than done.

Shuuichi locked himself in the bathroom that night to take his shower, and sang at the top of his lungs, pretending he didn't hear Yuki's complaints, kept the shower going until Yuki's inevitable need ruled...other diversions... then darted out the door and past Yuki to the spare bedroom, where he again locked the door.

A loud sigh. The flush of the toilet...and Yuki was back at his door, demanding an explanation.

"I...I'm sorry, Yuki. I p–promised. I've gotta sleep tonight." (Best not to mention bruises.) "I—we're shooting the album cover tomorrow. C–can't have circles under my eyes."

"_Circles? _What are you, a woman? Shit. Unlock this damned door!"

A shudder went down his spine as he leaned his shoulder against the wall for support from knees gone weak. When had he begun to fear Yuki? He closed his eyes, reminding himself Yuki was putting himself through this... _for him._

"Yuki...I love you. I..._want_ you. But I promised. —Tomorrow. Anything you want."

Yuki's fist pounded the door. "By tomorrow, I'll be crazy. Completely over the edge. Do you want that, y'damn brat? Open this damned door!"

_You damn brat._ There was a time he'd taken that as an affectionate nickname. Now ...

He slipped down the wall into a huddled ball, crossed arms pressing knees against a stomach gone shuddery.

"Open it!"

...it terrified him.

"...No..." he whispered, then covered his head as a heavy blow shattered the doorframe around the lightweight lock.

TBC

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**A/N: **That's it for this segment. Short, I know, but I'll update in a day or two. I'm trying to keep my updates fairly short (1000-2000 words) but frequent, because I know your time is limited and there are lots of posts to check out each day. Hope that's okay with everyone.

**Next Chapter: **Of Best Friends and Showers: I leave that to titillate your taste buds, and hope to still surprise you.

**Reviews: **I promise not to make a habit of individual answers, but for this first chapter or so, please forgive me if I indulge, particularly as it helps explain a couple of possible issues some readers might have with the story.

**Gurabiteshiyon: **Yay! A review! Since I only got one, please bare with my longish reply. Hopefully it will help those who find my internal Eiri OOC to understand where I'm coming from.

**Tsubaki**: Thanks! One thing about my Eiri...he's really based primarily on the anime, which I saw long before I read the manga. (In fact, I began this story and set the tone before I read the manga.) For one thing, I "read" him as slightly older in the anime...anywhere from 23 to 25. Here, four years later, he'd be pushing thirty (even by canon, he'd be closer to 30 than 20), past the initial confrontation with his past, and having long since made the decision to "go home to Shuuichi."

Sure, in the manga, the Kitizawa nonsense continues to hound him...in part because the story devolves into broad slapstick, which is fun, but which stagnates character development. But even in the manga, there are hints that some of the pre-Kitizawa Eiri sweetness still exists. In the anime, Shu even says he's still sweet! And he talks just fine...except when Shu most needs him to. As you'll see later, there was, for me at least, a major unresolved question in the Kitizawa experience which lies, in this story, at the core of his addictive behavior.

Again, however, with the sweet! I guess that first chapter is, I just know where it's headed. The point is, things in their relationship had gotten relatively even keel at that point. I was trying to show that so the shift in behavior is that much more shocking.

Obviously, that's about to change.

**FF:** You're much more welcoming over here! I had a review, like, an hour after posting! WHEEEEE!

**Em-Chan: **Thank you! I hope to update regularly...like two or three times a week. This story isn't an epic, and is complete in rough draft, so s/b able to keep that pace up, and s/b complete in under a month.

**Silvea:** Aren't the cautious ones fun? And particularly endearing, when they finally come around. I must admit, this began with a fantasy of pitting my "Yushu" against the indomitable Shuuichi and wondering who'd come out on top. It grew into something much more, but Yushu now permeates my mental future for Yuki and Shu. He's also in part two of "Cotton Candy Snow," and a two-parter I'll be putting up after Yushu. I see these two as being cat people...dogs require way too much attention. To all you dog-lovers, I like dogs just fine! My family raised Labrador Retrievers and I love them! I just see these two as needing a pet with an independent streak.

**InukagArethebestpair:** Re: grammar: Thank you. I do try. Though I'm new to fanfic, I've been writing for several years now, and grew up with a sister who was a grammar fanatic, which certainly helped. At the risk of sounding really dumb, I respect my story too much not make it as clean (grammatically-speaking) as possible. I worry, sometimes, at the propagation of unnecessary mistakes within the otherwise so very talented fannish community, but there's not much I can do about it, other than to do my best not to perpetuate the problem.

**Xedra:** My first review! Thank you!

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Thanks again, and Happy New Year, everyone! —Vin


	3. Of Best Friends and Showers

**Disclaimer: **Gravitation, it's wonderful characters and milieu are the property and brainchild of Maki Murakami. I'm just borrowing them for purposes of this fanfiction, and I'm very grateful for the loan.

The fallout from the worst night of Yuki's life begins.

Again, thanks to all for your encouragement. It means a lot.

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**Yushu**

by Vindaloo

Chapter three: **Of Best Friends and Showers**

"Dammit, Shu, you promised." The gentle concern in Hiro's voice undermined the harsh accusation, and the next moment, equally gentle fingers traced the bruises on his ribs.

"At least he didn't touch the face," Shuuichi mumbled, and moved away from that touch, hitching the towel more securely around his waist.

"That's not even remotely funny, Shuuichi."

He shrugged, and dropped the towel as he stepped into the steaming shower. "Thought you were in Studio 2 with Suguru practicing that new mix for _Bird_."

"Thought you'd slipped past me, you mean." On the far side of the glass door, a fuzzy Hiro crossed his arms and leaned his shoulders against the wall. "Did you think I wouldn't notice my best friend showing up for work looking like death warmed over? Did you get _any_ sleep last night?"

"Enough."

"Liar."

Yeah, he was. So what? He lathered himself all over with the strawberry-scented liquid soap NG stocked just for him. Everyone seemed convinced he used it—claimed he _smelled_ like strawberries. And maybe he did. He'd heard it said you are what you eat ...

Maybe that meant he was a stick of strawberry Pocky. All carbs and quick energy...and zero substance.

He sighed and attacked his hair with the (naturally) strawberry-scented shampoo. The truth was, at home he changed the scent every time he had to buy a new bottle, had delighted in the variety available ever since he'd weaned himself off of Ryuichi's brand, soon after his singing idol had left for America.

He'd even tried using Yuki's products, complete to the cologne that made Yuki smell like some exotic spicy tea, but thanks to a (according to a frantic bit of after-the-fact internet research) 'chemical incompatibility,' he'd ended up smelling like (according to Yuki's disgusted real-time assessment) 'a hockey-team's locker room—at the end of the season.' Holding his nose, Yuki had shoved him back into the shower—and then joined him for one of their more memorably joyous sessions of...well, what Yuki liked to do best in the world.

_He _hadn't exactly been averse to the occupation...at the time.

Shuuichi sighed, inhaling deeply of the admittedly yummy scent, wondering if he'd ever again feel truly clean. Between them, Aizawa Taki and Yuki Eiri had managed to make his every thought revolve around sex...mostly the dread of it.

"Shu?"

"Just hand me my toothbrush, will you?"

Moments later, toothbrush and paste appeared through the pulsing spray.

"Thanks."

He squeezed a healthy dollop of mint-flavored paste onto the brush and began scrubbing...and scrubbing.

_Images of Yuki's hips in front of his face, thrusting harder and harder..._

Harder and harder he scrubbed, attacking his tongue, trying to erase the memory-taste of his own filth—

_Yuki! At least clean it first—_

_And waste a good orgasm? Hell if._

Scrubbing and scrubbing...

_But—_

_Quit whining. You're the one who ran away._

_I fell off the bed!_

Scrubbing and scrubbing until he gagged ...

_Glug, brat. You expect me to kiss you now? Turn the fuck over._

Scrubbing and scrubbing until he began to choke.

_Why, Yuki, why?_

But the cries had never left his throat, and he'd spent the rest of the night trembling in the arms of the man he no longer recognized.

"Shuuichi!" Hiro's voice right in his ear. He was on his knees and Hiro was beside him, holding him, getting his clothes soaked, his hair and makeup, all ready for the shoot—soaked.

"I'm sorry," he gasped into his friend's shoulder. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm—"

"I get it. You're sorry." Hiro's hands on his shoulders eased him to face a (magically) gentle flow of water. "Mouth, Shu." He opened it, letting the water wash over him, inside and out. "Now spit...Good boy." One of Hiro's hands left him and the water disappeared altogether.

The next moment, Hiro was gone as well.

Shuuichi slumped there on the tiles, watching listlessly as the draining water formed sparkling patterns around his knees. He'd crept out of the house, sometime early that morning, after Yuki had finally worn himself out, had walked in the park for hours, remembering, reminding himself why it was worth it.

He thought, maybe, he'd even convinced himself.

A warmed towel drifted across his shoulders. He gasped, startled, and pulled the soft folds tight about him, burying his face in what felt and smelled like a towel fresh from the dryer.

Inarticulate noises filled the room. His noises, he realized in some embarrassment when Hiro chuckled. "Thought you'd like that. They put the warmer in last week. Right here by the door. Just stick your towel in before you start and it's all toasty-comfy by the time you come out. Pretty neat, huh?"

"Oooo...I want one ..."

Hiro's hands touched his chin, urging him to look up, and Hiro's metallic-grey eyes searched his face. Finally: "I'll tell that self-centered bastard of a boyfriend of yours. Springing for a towel warmer is the least he can do for you."

He said nothing, tired of defending Yuki to Hiro. No one would ever understand how important Yuki was to him. Not even Yuki understood. He wasn't sure he did, only that he needed Yuki as much as he needed the air he breathed and the food he ate. That need had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with what made him _him. _

Yuki...gave his music life.

Hiro lifted a brow, surprised, no doubt, at that lack of defense, and stood up, producing yet another warm towel, which he threw unceremoniously over Shuuichi's head.

"Hurry up, baka. We've got that new mix to try before the shoot."

He stood up, wrapping the towels around himself any old which way, and, without looking at Hiro, said, "I...mind if I pass today? I...that was stupid in there. I...hurt my throat. Kinda sore now." Never mind he'd waked up to a raw and bruised throat. "And...well, I could sure use a nap ..."

Hiro looked at him suspiciously, pulled him into the brighter light of the lounge and ordered him to open his mouth. He groused, as Hiro expected, but he didn't really fight his friend: the best way to shut Hiro up was to let him know his suspicions were right, but that his worry was unfounded.

Hiro grunted. "I don't like it, Shu. You're swollen. Damn right, you're not singing today, or tomorrow. I'll explain to the others."

"K—" Fear shot through him at the thought of his crazy, gun-happy American manager's reaction to that news.

"Will keep his magnum—and his questions—to himself. I promise. You go and get some rest, hear me?"

He chuckled. "Won't get any argument from me on that."

Hiro cupped his chin with both hands and tipped his head to press his lips against Shuuichi's forehead. "I'm going to talk to him."

"Hiro—"

"I don't care what his excuse is, Shu. No more. He's gone over some line. No one has the right to hurt you like this, do you understand me?"

"I know that. And mostly he's very careful, just...well...he's got v–very good endurance for...for such a heavy smoker. The bruises...those come from the nightmares. He's...I love him, Hiro, so very much, but he's...very fucked up."

"God, tell me something I don't know."

He managed a weak smile. "I...I'm afraid to go to sleep—" He saw the anger flare in Hiro's eyes and quickly qualified. "Not afraid that way. Afraid he'll have one of his nightmares and need me and I won't be there because I sleep so hard. But I just feel—he's so _close_ to beating this_—"_

"Doesn't matter. Doesn't do much good to have clean air in the house if the one you've cleaned it for can't breathe any more. I said I'd _talk_ to him, Shu. Just talk. I promise."

And he knew that's what he'd needed to hear. He knew he'd reached the end of what he could do for Yuki.

He hugged his friend, wondering for the millionth time just that week what he'd do without him.

TBC

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**Next Chapter:** Photoshoot.

**A/N:** Thanks for reading. Another update tomorrow. Would love feedback.


	4. Photoshoot

**Disclaimer: **Gravitation, its characters and milieu are the property of Maki Murakami. I thank her for letting us borrow them for the purposes of fanfiction.

**Summary:** Shuuichi sleeps through the most important photoshoot of his life.

**Warnings:** Nameless Photo-genius at work, voyeurism, and, well, a touch of citrus.

**Dedication:** To Shawn, who, if he ever chances to read this, will understand.

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**Yushu**

by Vindaloo

Chapter four: **Photoshoot**

Shuuichi was still asleep.

Nakano Hiroshi entered the lounge with a heavy heart. Dammitall, why couldn't they just let the kid sleep? Day after day, he worked his butt off here, then went home and nurse-maided his spoiled boyfriend through his DT temper tantrums. There was a limit, even to Shuuichi's Pocky-fed energy.

"Wait a second, Nakano-san."

Hiro started and looked around to find the photographer standing in the doorway, staring at Shuuichi's sleeping face. His head tipped to one side, his sharp gaze flashed toward the half-open drapes. Any moment now, his hands would lift in that silly false-frame gesture—

Except rather than hands, it was a digital camera. One shot. A second and third from alternate angles. A careful adjustment of the drape on the window. Another photo.

"K-san said the name of this CD is _My Everything_, is that correct?" the photographer asked, sounding distracted.

Hiro nodded.

"I have an idea ..."

Hiro, seeing that look, didn't argue. NG hired this man for his marketing instincts. Besides, every second they delayed was one more second of sleep for Shuuichi.

It said something about Shuuichi's exhaustion that they managed to move the equipment into the room without waking the singer up. Three cameras, three different angles, all with remote controls, all sending their information to a central control panel.

Ah, the joys of the electronic age.

And then, the photographer just sat there. Waiting. Latte in hand.

"_Shuuichi?"_

_He presses his lips tight on a whimper, curls more tightly around the pillow, wishing it were something more solid._

_At least the pillow doesn't fight back._

_Fingers trace his shoulder._

"_Shu-chan, are you all right?"_

_He nods, for all it's a lie. _

"_Dammit." The gentle touch wanders up his neck to touch his mouth, wiping away the traces of his own filth, his partner's ejaculate, and tears...Yuki's as well as his own. "I'm sorry. I...shouldn't have laughed."_

"_Whatever it takes," he whispers, past the pain in his throat._

_Those hands tighten. _

"_What's that supposed to mean?"_

"_I...like it when I can make you laugh. It...happens... so...rare..." The tears start to flow despite his efforts._

_A soft curse and he's pulled back into that embrace he aches for every waking moment of every day._

"_What ... have ... I ... done? Do you truly believe I was amused?"_

"_I just don't know anymore, Yuki."_

"_I was disgusted. —Horrified."_

"_A–at me? Because I—"_

"_No!"_

_A convulsive contraction of those strong arms awakens bruises made in the deepest night. He gasps in pain and Yuki mutters something he can't understand. The arms desert him, the light flashes behind him and Yuki's hands pull him gently but firmly around, press him flat on his back and brush aside the oversized shirt he's flung on against the cold._

_Yuki's shirt._

_Fingers trace the bruises; he tries desperately not to flinch. His nipples tighten painfully in the cold and he prays that Yuki won't notice, unable to face another round. Not tonight._

"_No, Shu, never at you." Warm breath precedes a delicate brush of lips on each purpling mark. "At myself. Just because I'd managed to get the damned thing up for the first time in days was no reason for...what I did." Another gentle brush of lips. "And these...dear god, you should call the cops on me, have me incarcerated."_

_Hands cup, making a cavern around those painful nubs. Warm breath eases the cold-induced tension before Yuki's borrowed shirt once again protects him from the cold air and Yuki's golden gaze._

"_It's the meds..." he whispers, desperate to excuse, to ease Yuki's guilt. "The nightmares..."_

_Fingertips on his lips stop his defense._

"_No excuse, Shu. This is...utterly unacceptable. I've got another appointment tomorrow. We'll do something, Shu. There has to be an answer."_

_He reaches for Yuki, pulls himself up. "Just...shut up and kiss me, will you?"_

✴✴✴

Shuuichi moaned softly and shifted. A bare shoulder appeared from under the cover. God, he hadn't _dressed_ before collapsing.

Hiro heard a click, cast a worried glance at the photographer who answered with a reassuring smile. "Nothing compromising," the man whispered. "I promise."

Which was a good promise, considering the next half hour. A slender hand crept up to the pillow, brushed sideways across a velvety-soft mouth, which parted ever-so-slightly to welcome it. A damp tongue appeared, and as if with a mind of its own, the index finger slipped into the darkness, drifting in and out lazily, the tongue within driving first it alone, then together with its neighbor in a slow, exotic dance.

Hiro swallowed hard, fascinated in spite of his better sense. This was his friend, dammit. His childhood buddy. They'd jerked off together regularly since they were twelve.

But he'd never seen Shuuichi like this.

And the photographer was immortalizing every minute shift. How much more 'compromising' could it get? He wanted to protest, yet at the same time, a part of him wanted to demand copies of each and every image file.

✴✴✴

"_Oh gods...Shu-chan, I've got another."_

_Prodding in the darkness, more than the warm kisses and gently probing fingers that soothed more than excited._

✴✴✴

Suddenly, Shuuichi's mobile brows tightened, a whimper escaped, and the fingers he'd been tongue-fucking pulled free to clutch the pillow.

✴✴✴

"_Please, Shu..."_

_He's so tired...but the need is there, a soft-voiced plea he can't resist._

_Ever._

✴✴✴

Beneath the blankets, Shuuichi's slender body writhed, not, dammit, in self-satisfying thrusts, but rather in a way strongly suggestive of avoiding unwanted invasion.

Even his dreams had been contaminated by that golden-eyed bastard.

Hiro twitched, wanting to wake his friend up, but the photographer raised a hand, mouthed _Wait_...without looking up from his monitors. And indeed, Shuuichi's expression had shifted to one of mounting excitement, a twisted, pained, reluctant excitement. And beneath the covers, that slender body stiffened, convulsed—and relaxed.

Cameras clicked.

The photographer's mouth lifted in a satisfied smile, and he looked up. "Damn, I'm good."

"What—"

Another grin and the photographer began disassembling his array of cameras, setting the pieces quietly outside the room. When he was done, he gave a jerk of his head toward the door. "Let's go get you other guys."

"But—" He looked at his sleeping friend, his hands held palm-up in question.

"Let him sleep. Looks like he needs it."

"But—"

A grin. "Don't worry. I've got it under control. Trust me. Seguchi will love it."

✴✴✴

"_Shuuichi_?"

"Not yet, mum," he begged. "Just five more?"

"_Fuck you, Shindou. I'm not your mum and Seguchi-san said one more delay and you were fired."_

Seguchi? As in Touma? As in Nittle Grasper?

Reality crashed in. Seguchi. Not as in Nittle Grasper, but as in NG. As in _boss! _

As in phot—oh—"Shoot!" he screamed and scrambled wildly, searching for the floor, succeeding only in tangling himself irrevocably with the covers and finding the floor all too suddenly for his bruised butt.

"Owwwwwww!!!!!"

Laughter, and Hiro's familiar touch helping extricate himself. Too late, he realized his state of undress and glanced frantically around the room, relieved to discover it was just him and Hiro.

"Fuck," he said, clutching the blanket to his chest. "How late am I?"

"The shoot's over."

"_Over?" _Had he missed it then? "Touma's going to kill me."

"Oh, I don't think so."

"Huh?"

Hiro smiled and tossed him his clothes. "Just get dressed and come to CR1 ASAP, okay? Cover meeting. Already in progress, baka, so move it."

He rolled his eyes up into his head and Hiro grinned, then disappeared out the door. Shuuichi scrambled into his shirt, realizing as he did so that his dream hadn't been confined to his sleeping self. He wrinkled his nose and dashed into the lounge to clean himself off before pulling on his jeans, shoving his bare feet into his sneakers as he zipped.

He didn't bother tying, just dashed out the door and down the hall, headed for Conference Room 1.

✴✴✴

"Sacho-san, I'm _sor—"_

The apology died in his throat. He froze in mid-stride and stood there, just inside the doorway, swaying on the balls of his feet, staring at the image projected at the front of the room.

It was a face, just a sweet, sleeping face with a secret, wistful smile on its lips. The eyes, even in sleep, were a bit...bruised-looking. The young man looked exhausted. But in a good way. Kanji, in elegant, smoky-blue calligraphy, looking like the sleeping man's dreams, read _My Everything._

Just that. Nothing more.

Slowly, Shuuichi acknowledged the rest of the darkened room. Faces, illumined by that projected image, all watching him expectantly, awaiting his reaction.

He swallowed hard and felt his way numbly across the room, staring once again at that image.

"Is that...me?" He tried to ask, but it only came out as a whisper.

"Untouched and sans makeup," it was the photographer who answered. "Yeah, kid, that's you."

He swallowed again, sought out his friend's face. "Wh-while I was sleeping...in there?"

Hiro nodded. Grinning.

"B–but Yuki always says—_you_ always said—I...I snore. My mouth hangs open and I...drool."

A low chuckle. "You do. Mostly." Hiro tipped his head toward the image. "Obviously not always."

His breath caught as he approached that image, unable, somehow, to resist its pull. He didn't recognize himself. Not in the least. Finally, he came within reach, stretched a hand to trace that invitingly mysterious, vulnerable mouth. "I ..." he stumbled over his own tongue, feeling utterly and totally ashamed at the feelings rushing through him.

"It's all right, Shu," Hiro's voice urged him softly on.

Tears threatened; he blinked them away, turning his face into the shadow, not wanting anyone to see him. "I–it makes me... fall in love... with...my..."

But he couldn't finish. It was too embarrassing to admit.

"Join the rest of the world, Shu." Hiro's arms wrapped his shoulders and they stood there a moment, staring at that picture.

"_What the fuck is that?"_

Shuuichi's heart raced. As one, they turned toward the door.

"Yuki...?"

TBC

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**Next Chapter:** A Thousand Words

**Reviews:**

**Gurabiteshiyon: **

**L: **I think Yuki's violent tendencies are undeniable, though the reasons for them are endlessly debatable. Part of the attraction of the character for me is wondering how and when he will blow. The fact that he walls himself off from emotions to avoid such a blow up (at least as I read him) is one of his most endearing qualities.

**Tsubaki:** I make no bones about it, I adore Shuuichi. He's no dummy, but he's very real time and instinct-driven—again, as I read him. Hiro is...well, Hiro. One of fiction's most wonderful characters, IMO. Yuki...has a lot to face in the next few chapters.

**fuzzybunnytoo:** Whee...my sympathies. Not an addiction I've faced personally, but I've certainly supported many who have. Obviously, with Yuki, those violent tendencies do not interface well with nicotine withdrawal.

**Madxhatta:** Love that name! Shu will be fine. He's made of rubber, doncha know? Yuki OTOH is going to suffer! Oh, and Yushu shall return. His part is small, but very significant.

**FF-net:**

My thanks to all of you!

**Riiiceballe** (another great name!): I honestly don't know how these rating systems work. I just write the stuff. :D Personally, I like stories with a bit of everything, so I suppose (hope?) that's what I write. So glad you're enjoying it.

**Jersey Thursday:** I do like the idea that their relationship actually could mature without them being required to undergo massive personality changes. :D

More soon!—Vin


	5. A Thousand Words

**Disclaimer:** Gravitation and its characters and milieu are the property of Maki Murakami. I'm only borrowing them.

**Summary:** Yuki gets his eyes opened.

**A/N:** Sorry about bumping this right back up to the top of the list, but I realized how short this chapter was, and that I didn't want to add anything, so I thought I'd give quick relief on the question of Yuki's reaction.

**Warnings:** Very short. Sorry.

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**Yushu**

by Vindaloo

Chapter five: **A Thousand Words**

"Yuki." Shuuichi's familiar voice caressed his ears, but all Eiri could see was that damnably intimate portrait on the screen. Familiar touch on his sleeve, familiar voice pleading: "It's the new album cover. Isn't it—"

"It's obscene." He struck the master wall switch, throwing the room into glaring light, fading the image to near nothing. "No way I'm letting them put that out in front of the public."

"Ob—" The brat's pained gaze flashed back to the screen. "It is?"

Believing him—again. Always so fucking quick to accept his judgement. Why in hell didn't the trusting idiot ever tell him to _go _to hell?

"You're wrong, Eiri." Seguchi, on the other hand, never hesitated. "It's perfect. We're keeping—"

"N–not if Y–yuki says no, Seguchi-san," Shuuichi said softly, head down, his hair shielding his expression from all of them. But Eiri didn't need to see it. He knew the heartbreak it held. He'd caused that pain, but damned if he'd apologize. For months now, going on _years_ he'd been trying to get Shuuichi to see in himself what that fucking photographer managed to capture in one fraction of a second...

That fucking photographer.

"So...who'd you fuck, Shu?" he asked, making no effort to hide his contempt. "Mr. Photoman? Or did you go at it with Hiro?"

"Wha—?"

He had all their attention now. He laughed harshly and jerked his head at the screen. "Only one way to get that look on your face, Shindou. I thought, gullible fool that I am, that you reserved it for me." He met—and matched—the photographer's cool gaze. "Hope you took pictures of the entire interlude. Don't want to be cheated of the good stuff, now do we?"

"Dammit, Yuki-san," Hiro began, advancing on him, but Shuuichi lifted his hand and Hiro stopped, albeit unwillingly.

"I...won't pretend not to understand, Yuki." Shuuichi was trembling so badly he could barely get the words out. "But...you're wrong. I...don't know how he got the picture—"

"As a matter of fact," Mr Photoman butted in, "...Yuki-san, is it? I do have pictures of the entire session, complete with time stamp. You're welcome to the lot. I've got the one we need."

"No," Shuuichi said. "We...we'll have to use something else." His voice was shaking, and he turned for the door. "Excuse me...everyone...please." He stumbled out, and closed the door, but nothing, no matter how sound-proofed the room, could stop Eiri from _feeling _the sobs that he knew burst free once that door closed.

His heart responded, his soul ached to go to his lover, to apologize, to do..._something_, but his feet remained frozen in place, his face muscles as immovable as granite. He wasn't jealous. He wouldn't let himself _be _jealous. Not of someone else fucking his boy, not of someone else succeeding where he had—so miserably—failed.

Shuuichi's best friend had no such restraints.

"You fucking bastard," Hiro hissed at him as he passed. "You just have to destroy all the magic for him, don't you?"

He ignored the guitarist—at least outwardly—but Hiro grabbed his arm, forcing his attention, cracking the granite.

"You _look _at that entire shoot, asshole. See if you're smart enough to read between the lines of _those_ lyrics. See if that fucking clever brain of yours can figure just _who_ put that look on his face and how and _why_." He released Eiri's arm with a final angry jerk. "And may you choke on your own hypocrisy."

Inside his stomach churned, an uneasy mix of hope and guilt; outwardly, he doubted so much as his adam's apple twitched.

"Bastard." Hiro snarled, and slipped out the door.

All the others were staring at him, a sea of accusation.

He lifted a brow, refusing the guilt they sought to impose on him. "You heard the man. Where are these pictures?"

He had more than enough...all on his own.

✴✴✴

It was three hours before Eiri turned off the computer and slipped the disk free. He pressed it gently into the waiting jewel case, closed the case and slid it into the breast pocket of his jacket.

He'd never, ever part with it.

He picked his still-smoldering cigarette stub up off the ashtray, tapped another out of the pack—Hiro's pack, abandoned on the table—and lit it with the stub.

It had taken three...no four...just to stop his hands from shaking long enough to safely remove that disk.

And somehow, he doubted Hiro had left the pack by accident.

He pushed himself up out of the chair and left the darkened, empty room. Even Touma had finally given up and headed home to his wife.

Hiro, not surprisingly, was waiting in the long-deserted lounge.

Hiro looked knowingly at the cigarette, then into his eyes. "Well?"

He drew a deep breath, then admitted: "I need your help."

TBC

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**A/N:** My apologies for the short chapter. I didn't realize when I blocked them out that this one wouldn't need any more fleshing out than this, but as I went over it, I felt anything more would be overkill, so...it's short. Sorry.

My thanks as always for the reviews, both my precious regulars and the new folks. **Shadow-dreamer Lady Fate:** Thanks. As I tried to indicate with chapter three, the physical abuse hasn't really been long term. It's really only a couple of nights, and the real reasons for it are coming up. I personally don't think Hiro would allow long term abuse to continue and I don't believe Shu could effectively hide it from him, but that's my opinion. Hiro is suspicious enough of Yuki and protective enough of Shu, I just don't see it happening.

Not that people haven't written darn good fanfics based on the premise of Shu's ability to hide either Yuki's abuse or self-mutilation, but personally, I have to mentally file those under extreme AU. In all honesty, I don't see Yuki himself allowing it to continue, but again, that's my reading of the characters.


	6. For the Love of Snow

**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fanfiction based on the marvelous manga and anime Gravitation. The characters and milieu are the property of their creator, Maki Murakami.

**A/N: **if there's anyone out there who still doesn't know, Yuki means "snow." This is, in a way, also a part of the Cotton Candy Snow series...the first, in fact, and still, by far, my favorite.

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**Yushu**

by Vindaloo

Chapter six: **For the Love of Snow**

The tears had dried up some time before the night spent in a cold, lonely bed.

Sleep had, amazingly, happened without chemical aid, and morning light brought a new perspective, and more much-needed sleep. He woke, ate leftovers, showered, and let sleep take him again. Sleep without dreams, without...Yuki.

Oh, he wondered, wrapped in a blanket against the cold, sitting on the floor beside the wall of windows, watching the snow beginning to pile up on the balcony, where Yuki was—but not too hard. Yuki was pissed at him and thought he'd been cheating on him, and so Yuki was undoubtedly out somewhere...cheating on him.

Of course, it was different for Yuki—just ask him. Yuki had been fucking a different woman every night before they'd met. It was habit that drove him, not desire, just like smoking and drinking were habits...not addictions.

Shuuichi had been a virgin—in every sense of the word. Sex actually meant something to Shuuichi, and therefore, in the world according to Yuki, Shuuichi's cheating would actually mean something.

Never mind he'd never even been tempted—so maybe Yuki was right. Maybe it _was_...different.

He didn't know which truth was more difficult to face, the fact that Yuki could, without a qualm, fuck someone else...or the fact that he, Shindou Shuuichi, couldn't, absolutely could not imagine, willingly touching anyone else in that oh-so-special way.

But he couldn't hate Yuki for that small hypocrisy, though he could wish Yuki felt as he did. And he hoped, prayed, actually, that Yuki was careful these days.

From the start, they hadn't been. He'd never thought about it, had been swept along on a mind-numbing roller-coaster ride of emotions and sensations—until the first time Yuki brought a woman home. He didn't want, truly did not want, to face the consequences of Yuki _not_ being careful. He'd asked, once, early on, then wished he hadn't. _He_ wasn't the resident idiot, so Yuki had said abruptly, and declared, in so many words, that Shuuichi could either trust him or take a hike.

But sometimes...sometimes trust became...very hard.

Yuki...ignored the future, living in the moment, as if he could, if things went badly, go back and edit his actions, like he edited one of his books, and when he realized he couldn't, he tried to create a different reality in his own head, and when all those realities got all mixed up, the doctors gave him pills to help him ignore...everything.

Something soft bumped his chin: Yushu demanding attention. But it was cold outside his blanket and so he kept his fingers inside his cocoon, murmuring to the kitten, who stood on his hind legs, forepaws on the blanket in front of Shuuichi's face, rubbing Shuuichi's nose. Finally, he began digging at the blanket until Shuuichi lifted it and let him inside, where he worked his way into the valley between Shuuichi's legs and stomach. Gratefully, he wrapped himself around the warm, furry bundle.

Only a month had passed and Yushu had already doubled in size. Going to be a big'un, the vet insisted with a grin. All Shuuichi knew was the kitten provided the loving warmth he so desperately desired, and rarely got, from his so-called lover.

Outside, the sun didn't set; the heavy, snow-filled skies simply turned dark, the snow, in the light from the city, continuing to drift downward in a silent ballet.

He should, he supposed, turn on a light, but the ballet held him entranced. He let himself drift on the flakes, lulled almost to sleep by the soft purr emanating from his lap.

The door clicked.

He let his head drift around on the cool glass, eyeing the growing slit of light from the hallway, a light mostly eclipsed by the tall silhouette.

A tall silhouette whose shoulders and head slumped in weariness...or defeat.

Yuki slipped soft-footed into the apartment and eased the door shut, leaned his head for a moment against the door before heaving a sigh and pushing himself away.

"We're keeping the cover."

It wasn't how he'd planned to greet Yuki, but somehow, the words were said and damned if he wasn't satisfied when Yuki's head jerked toward him.

Silence, then, from out of the shadowed face, in the cold-Yuki voice: "High time you used those balls of yours for something constructive."

"Fuck you, Yuki," he said, almost conversationally.

"I'm at your service, as always."

Within the cocoon, Yushu wiggled, demanding freedom, wanting to wrap himself around Yuki's legs in his standard greeting, an occupation not that far from Shuuichi's own inclinations.

But he denied those desires, turning his face back to the snow, knowing the moment he let himself touch Yuki, his carefully nurtured calm would break.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Yuki's voice, rich and mellow, despite the efforts of his cancer sticks to destroy it, coming from directly over his head.

"Cold. Brittle. Constantly changing. Appearing out of nowhere and when you try to touch it, it melts and slips away." He stared out at the flakes, afraid to move, terrified at the consequences of breaking the strange mood. "Yeah, it's beautiful—if you like that sort of thing."

"And do you, Shuuichi? Do you...like that sort of thing?"

He shook his head, rolling it against the glass, and relished the barely audible sigh of disappointment from overhead. But that satisfaction faded quickly: he didn't really like scoring points in this painful game they played; hated causing Yuki pain—of any sort. Sliding the door open a few inches, he poked his bare hand out of his cocoon and into the falling flakes, watching as they fell, touched, and vanished.

"It's too...ephemeral to like, Yuki," he replied at last, pulling his hand back inside and closing the door. "You...you have to love it, with all your heart and energy while you have it, to...to make up for the times when you don't."

Something suspiciously like a sob happened above him and he pushed himself to his feet, untangling legs and blanket, cautious of feet gone more than a bit numb. Standing in front of his shadow-lover, he lifted his arms, the blanket suspended from his fingertips, like bat wings, and wrapped them around Yuki's neck, welcoming Yuki's chilled body into his private cocoon. Yuki's embrace enfolded him and Yuki's face buried itself in his neck.

And within the cocoon, the smell of death, of ashes and smoke, was back.

Shuuichi stifled a reflexive cough, and defiantly buried his nose in Yuki's coat, relishing the stench, because it was part of Yuki, but Yuki's arms tightened and his voice whispered apologies into the darkness.

"I tried, Shu-chan. Dammit." His voice caught, his arms convulsed again. "Dammit, I tried so hard and all I accomplished was hurting you more."

"Shut up," Shuuichi whispered.

"Huh?"

"I said, just shut up and kiss me."

TBC

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**A/N: **This scene, the second actually written, was the one that convinced me I might actually have a story.

**Next Chapter:** A Rose by Another Name: the morning after. What will Yuki do and what part will Hiro play?

As always, thanks so much for reading, and if you're so inclined, I'd love to know what you think.


	7. A Rose By Another Name

**Disclaimer:** Gravitation equals Maki Murakami's equals not mine, and I am content.

**Summary:** The morning after, Hiro, and a rose on a pillow.

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**Yushu**

Chapter Seven:

**A Rose by Another Name**

Hiro let himself in using the key on his ring, the one Shuuichi had given him months ago, 'just in case.' He hadn't told Yuki about that key, it seeming to undermine the gesture of the second key now in a drawer at home, a key bearing the epithet 'you'll be needing it.'

It was silent within, for all it was long past Shuuichi's 'last chance for breakfast' hour. Silent, and Shuuichi's shoes were still beside the door.

Yuki's were not.

Hiro left his shoes beside Shuuichi's and moved soft-footed about the apartment, noting the absence of certain key elements. Nothing particularly useful, other than Yuki's laptop, though he'd left the cable modem and network router, for which Hiro thanked him, since the last thing he wanted to think about today was getting Shuuichi back online.

No, nothing useful, but everything personal. Hand-made cards, one for every holiday on the calendar and a dozen for Shuuichi's 'just because days' that had littered the refrigerator; a small, rather warped sculpy bust of Yuki, also Shuuichi's handiwork, which had been stuck in a corner of Yuki's office; the framed lyrics, the crumpled sheet of drawing tablet paper that had started it all...

Hiro felt his throat tightening, realizing, perhaps for the first time, just how completely in love _Yuki_ had been. That curious decor hadn't been Shuuichi's doing, other than the creation of those objects d' questionable art.

No, Shuuichi made things to give them away, to celebrate a moment; he didn't hang on to them.

Even that scrap of paper...once the song had been completed, once he'd transferred those lyrics to his computer, he wouldn't have cared what happened to the paper.

Living in the past...that was Yuki.

He paused at the bedroom door, drew a deep breath and pushed it open.

✴✴✴

Shuuichi was awake. He lay, curled on his side, staring through half-lidded eyes at the pillow in front of him, Yushu a black shadow within the circle of his arms.

On the pillow, an envelope...and a single rose, a rich, variegated peace rose of some sort, all the colors of a sunrise, all the colors...orange and yellow and pink...that Shuuichi loved the most.

"Shu-kun?" Hiro whispered, and held his breath.

"Good morning, Hiro."

A murmur, quiet and composed, from what might otherwise be mistaken as a sleeping body.

"Don't you think you should be getting up?"

A pause, then: "Have the plans changed? I thought we had the week off."

"We do."

A sigh. "Then...I think, maybe, I'll just rest here today. I'm...very tired. Been a...long haul getting that album completed."

The conversation had just entered the realm of surreal...and where Shuuichi was concerned, that was saying something. Where the hysterics? Where the tears? Where the_ I'm going after him, whether he wants me to or not?_

"Shuuichi, he's...not coming back."

"I know that." Purple eyes flickered his way. "How do you?"

"You're not the only one to get—" He nodded toward the envelope. "One of those."

A tiny smile touched that shadowed profile. "Complete with rose?"

"Can't say that."

He stepped closer, sat on the bed next to Shuuichi, on the far side from Yuki's pillow.

"Aren't you going to read it?"

"I will. Eventually. But I already know what it says. He's sorry. He might even say he loves me...he can type the words just fine, you know. Does it all the time for his novels. He just can't say them. But he couldn't quit smoking. Or drinking. Or whoring. And he's left before he hurts me more."

"Going to get K to find him?"

Shuuichi's head rocked slowly in a negative. "He's got to come back on his own this time. Because he wants it, not because I made him."

"Shuuichi—"

"He said, last night, that I'd...graduated. I...I told him we were going with the cover as is. That I was sorry he didn't like it, but that I did. That I thought it was beautiful and I wasn't going to let him ruin it." Another flash of purple before his gaze returned to the rose. "He said he was proud of me, that it _was_ a great cover, and that he was just sad that he'd never been able to help me see myself that way."

"Sounds like you two talked a lot last night. Maybe you should have tried that before."

"Not really. That was about all. Then we...fucked. A lot." He sighed and stretched. Yushu mewed an objection, stood and shifted about, settling back in against Shuuichi's chest as Shuuichi resumed his contemplation of the rose.

That was no news. Yuki had sounded exhausted, when they'd talked just after dawn. It was a good thing, Yuki had said, that a soundly fucked Shuuichi slept like the dead. He'd managed to pack his clothing and those other few items and escape without Shuuichi being any the wiser.

If he _had_ waked up, Yuki had admitted, with the too-free tongue of exhaustion, he doubted he'd have been able to follow through with his plan.

"Shuuichi, don't you think you should get up?"

"Not...not today, Hiro." Another flash of purple, that disappeared behind closed lids as the covers over Shuuichi's shoulders heaved. Once. Twice. A third time. Then, softly: "The sheets...still smell like him. By tomorrow, they'll only smell of me and Yushu. I...I want to...to smell him as long as I can."

The look on his face was one of gentle satiation. One, Hiro suspected, of the many post-coital Shuuichi looks. Yuki had said there were dozens, but that the one on the cover was special, a particularly painful one, because it was the look of a generous, loving person who'd given everything they had and then been asked for more, who had searched beyond their reserves to some fundamental life force and given that as well.

It was, so Yuki had said that night, his eyes glittering suspiciously, the most poignant expression of Shindou Shuuichi's essential character.

Another glance, steady this time, with a small smile. "I'm all right, Hiro. Honestly I am. I'm not going to obsess, I'm not going to pine. I don't promise not to be sad sometimes, but for now...for now, I just want to smell and remember. Tomorrow...Tomorrow, the snow will be gone, and life will go on."

There's a packet, Yuki had said, on the desk. Copies of papers he'd filed with his lawyer yesterday. The deed to the condo, a will...of which Shuuichi was sole beneficiary. Make sure he reads them, help him to understand.

"I...Okay, Shuuichi. I...brought some muffins and a nice big sandwich. I'll put them in the fridge. Can I get you anything else?"

"Thanks, Hiro. I'm good for today. Tomorrow...why don't you come over tomorrow morning. I'll treat you to a big breakfast—your choice."

"It's a deal, Shu." He stood and leaned over to press his lips to the back of Shuuichi's tousled pink head. "Love you, buddy."

"Forever, partner."

He let his hand rest on Shuuichi's blanketed shoulder, squeezed gently. "So does _he._ He did it for you."

"I know. Now...well, maybe now he'll do something for himself."

"Yeah." Another squeeze and he left the room, closing the door softly behind him, pausing for a time to listen for tears, of which there were a few, but only a few. Shuuichi, as Yuki had predicted, was ready.

_I don't have to ask you to take good care of him—you always have. Far better than I've done._

He'd never thought to hear that tone of voice from Yuki Eiri. Theirs had always been an uneasy cold war at best. He knew Shu loved Yuki and in the last year, he'd had to admit, Shu had been happy and productive as never before.

_But...should your love turn into something more, should his, for what it's worth, you have my blessing._

That was patently silly. He'd love Shuuichi til the day he died, but never that way, and he knew Shuuichi felt the same. What they had was too precious to screw up with sex. But he could tell, it made it easier for Yuki to do what needed to be done, thinking, maybe, Shuuichi could replace him that easily.

_I...I do l–love him, Hiro. God help me, I actually said it. Do you know, I've never even been able to read those passages from my own books aloud? But I do love him. I cherish him more than life itself, but...cheesy as it sounds, not more than his life, and that, I fear, will be forfeit if I stay here. He's...ready now. He's always been stronger than any of us gave him credit for—hides it behind those ready tears—but he knows that now. He even threw my critiques of his lyrics in my face last night. Good for him, I say. What the hell do I know? I'm a fucking romance author, not a poet. And since the words—all his words—appear to be engraved in my soul, I guess that pretty much sums up who's right and who's full of shit..._

And that had been all. He supposed all of that was in that envelope in some form or another, but Shuuichi had come to his own peace...with that rose.

TBC

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**Next Chapter: Fubar:** Eiri's search for answers nearly ends before it begins.

As always, my enormous thanks to all those who have put this story on their favorites and alerts lists. Reviews of all kinds are welcomed. I'm always interested in improving my writing. ---Vin.


	8. Fubar

**Disclaimer:** Gravitation, it's characters and milieu are the property of their creator, Maki Murakami. This is a work of fanfiction, written for no profit other than a lot of fun.

**Summary:** Yuki's search for answers begins.

**A/N: **The title, Fubar, is a marvelous word. For those unfamiliar with it, it means "f$ked up beyond all recognition." (Don't ask me why I scrambled the F word here and not in the text! Go figure.)

Rated for language and adult concepts/situations.

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**Yushu**

Chapter Eight:

**Fubar**

"Get the fuck out!"

"Mr. Uesugi—"

"Out!"

"But—"

"Unless. And. Until," Eiri said slowly and through clenched teeth, "They bring me my computer." Eiri advanced deliberately on the white-coated idiot, who backed toward the door. "You can take your drugs, your food, and your fucking condescending smile—" The idiot's back hit the door, he fumbled behind him for the handle. "And bury them all in the nearest—"

The idiot fell backwards through the door and slammed it in Eiri's face.

Eiri drove his fist into the barrier.

He smiled grimly, welcoming the pain that lanced through his wrist and up his arm, all the way to his throbbing head: proof positive he was still alive, despite their best efforts to destroy him.

He kicked the door for good measure, then retreated to his corner haven: a comfortable chair, a desk. Paper and pen. And outside the window, the relentless sun of Northern California.

_Write a journal,_ the idiot in charge here had said. _Express your thoughts and feelings. Come to terms with the man you were, the man you are, and the man you expect to become._

Right. Screw journals. He had a story eating him up inside and fingers that had begun to type in his fucking sleep.

God...how long had it been since they'd let him have his computer? A week, a month, two months? Damned if he knew any longer.

_We can't let you have it. You must not lose yourself in your work. Life, real life must become your priority, if you're to come to terms with the source of your addictions._

Why the hell couldn't they understand? Writing _was _life for him. Real life. You didn't ask a writer to bottle up the muse. You didn't tell a writer not to write.

You'd think, above all else this fancy Hollywood-catering rehab center would have figured out that much. But they didn't get it. They just fucking didn't get it.

He picked up the pen to jot more notes, but it wasn't the same. The thoughts flowed too swiftly, he'd become too used to thinking several words ahead of his fingers, and the sheer act of writing by hand required so damn much concentration.

He threw the pen across the room and buried his face in his crossed arms. He was shaking, all the way to the core of his being. They'd be back soon to convince him to take their fucking mind-numbing drugs. They never used force; they never had to. They simply assumed that disgustingly reasonable tone and convinced him it was for the best, for Shuuichi.

No, scratch that, _they_ never said for Shu. He supplied that all-important detail.

Here, everything was about him and resolving his issues with himself. Frankly, he didn't give a flying fuck about an asshole named Uesugi Eiri. He hadn't mattered for years. Not to him. Only to people like Mika, who had an older sister's emotional investment in him; Touma, who had a guilt complex a mile wide about what he'd 'allowed' to happen in New York; and his brother, for whom his place was a convenient escape.

Hell, he knew he did them all an injustice, reducing their feelings for him to such petty simplicities, but the fact that he _could_ consider them that way at once invalidated any other possible explanations for their actions—at least in his own mind, and what else mattered?

Especially here.

Shu...there was no throwaway motivation to invalidate the love he positively radiated. Love that survived...everything. Alcohol, cigarettes...even cocaine.

Oh, yes, he'd tried it. Once. That one disastrous night before the photoshoot. The night that changed...everything. He'd been so desperate, the craving for a cigarette overriding every common sense thought. The reality interface so vital to a writer had been getting hazier with every passing day. Cocaine, he'd thought, in the idiocy of need, cocaine had no secondary smoke. It could be consumed rationally...he'd heard enough successful people touting its value to convince himself, in his nicotine-deprived idiocy, that it was worth a try...

And that try had left the man he loved covered with bruises and feces and tears. He'd never hated himself so profoundly as he had when his head cleared from the immediate effects of the drug and he saw what he'd done to Shu.

Never mind, he'd done far worse the following day, in cold, sober, blood.

His fingers sought the picture hidden in the desk drawer, a CD case with a face that bared his Shuuichi, _his_ Shu, to the world. Now, everyone knew, even without knowing the details, what Shuuichi's so-called lover had made of him.

An angel of mindless giving.

It was at once beautiful and hideous. Because Shuuichi wasn't an angel. He was a living, breathing, exquisitely sensitive young man with his own life to live. He had no business sacrificing it for someone who'd sold out on life years ago.

There was another CD, a single Hiro had managed to send him without Touma's hounds tracking it. Sometimes fans could be remarkably useful, particularly when they worked in the security department of a very private detox hospital.

The cover of the single showed what Shuuichi had become, free of the strain of life with Uesugi Eiri. That smile that could illuminate an entire planet was back, the violet eyes shimmered with laughter, not tears, and the slender body stretched upward, a mike-holding hand lifted in triumph.

That's how Shuuichi should look.

Shuuichi. Not his Shu-chan. He had no right to something so precious—

_Dammit, no!_ He thrust the CDs back into the drawer and shoved away, the chair's casters spinning him across the hardwood floor and halfway to the door. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands shutting his eyes off from that bright light emanating from the desk, a light only his heart could see.

He had _every _right. To think otherwise was to invalidate everything Shuuichi was. From the start, Shindou Shuuichi had found something worthy in Yuki Eiri. Something...dammit, _yes_, something worth loving. Yuki Eiri had every right to the happiness and love awaiting him in Japan—Shindou Shuuichi had given him that right—and he'd find his way there, somehow. Some, fucking, way. But it wasn't through—

A knock at his door. Hah! The drug mafia had arrived. He sat up, crossed his legs and arms into a guise of casual ease.

"Come!" He saw no reason to make the single word sound welcoming.

The doctor came in. Eiri looked pointedly at the doctor's empty hands.

"Come back when you've got something useful."

"You already have your answer to that, Mr. Uesugi."

Eiri closed his eyes, organizing in his mind the arguments he'd been amassing for the past two days, ever since he'd finally pinpointed the true key to his dilemma. He'd been trying, dammit, from the start to play their game, their way, by every one of their stinking rules. For Shuuichi.

Until he realized those rules had been predicated on a fundamentally flawed concept.

"Look, I'll make you a deal." Eiri leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and doing his best to look earnest.

The doctor looked suspicious. "I'm listening."

"Give me my computer—"

"Out of the question."

"Hear me out. Give me my computer, and I'll write your damned journal."

The doctor sighed. "Mr. Uesugi, we've been through this before. Our patients are not allowed to work here—"

"When will you get it through your heads, you're not _dealing_ with a plumber here!" Eiri clenched his fists; the doctor paused, staring pointedly at those fists, gauging, Eiri assumed, the risk factors. Eiri forced his hands to open, if not to relax, finding stability instead in the arms of his chair, his fingers gripping with white-knuckled force.

The doctor gave a small nod of approval. "Yes, Mr. Uesugi?"

He continued his argument with forced calm. "I'm not a plumber, not a chef or a brain surgeon or an astronaut. I'm a writer. That's not a profession; it's what I am. I don't escape life in my writing, I confront it."

"I beg to differ, Mr. Uesugi. We have a great deal of experience with creative people here. We're quite familiar—"

"And what's your success rate?"

A lifted brow. "Very good, as you know. You had us thoroughly investigated before checking yourself in. You agreed to abide by our rules. One of those rules was no work."

Eiri caught the snarl before it reached his lips. He spun the chair, turning his back on the infuriating fool and sought control in that hidden picture of Shuuichi.

"I'd like some revised figures. Specific statistics."

"Unusual. But within your rights. Of what?"

"I'd like to know how many of your success stories were writers." He turned his eyes from Shuuichi's light, spun to nail the doctor's suddenly blank gaze. "I want to know how many were writers and how many of those writers returned to the same productivity following their release from here, and how many went straight back onto whatever substance they came here to beat. Hell, I want to know how many of those you've declared clean were still _alive _five years later."

The doctor's brow tightened.

"I don't care about actors, I don't care about painters or sculptors or any other goddamned artists, I want to know about writers. Fiction writers. Novelists. TV writers. Script writers. _Authors_. Creative minds that use written words. The same fucking—" He caught himself, calmed himself, despite the internal shaking that had nothing to do with the lack of cigarettes or booze, and everything to do with unresolved _story_. "The same basic mental process you want me to go through to produce your damned journal."

"So, use that energy to write the journal."

He fought down the flaring anger. Anger was the very enemy he had to learn to control. That anger was the reason he remained here, that and the sense that the minute he was out the doors, he'd be right back where he started.

"It's not the same." He sought the words to explain to someone so obviously clueless to _his_ reality. "For other people, work is something they can leave behind. Writers..._live_ on the boundary between reality and fantasy. Actors assume the skins _we_ create. Artists give a glimpse into the worlds _we_ conceive. Writers...control the gateway. Our mental balance depends on knowing we _can_ control that gateway. You take that option away, you tell me not to write, and simultaneously to gain confidence in my reality...I'm telling you, it _can't be done!_ Oh, I can play your little game. I can write all kinds of meaningless crap into that fucking little journal of yours, but it won't constitute the reality that lives within me that needs to get straightened out. You _get_ me that computer, you stay out of my face, you let me write out the story that's driving me fucking crazy and you'll get your damned journal. Better than that, you'll get the truth and I'll have a chance in hell of getting past this insanity into which you've driven me!"

"Mr. Uesugi, if I allow you that computer, you'll simply lose yourself in that fantasy. You must face your memories, confront the death of your tutor—"

"A month...two weeks. Just let me try it my way. _Please!"_ He pressed his lips together, hating himself for the begging tone, but the doctor's face subtly shifted as she studied him in silence for several minutes, then:

"I'll think about it."

Eiri felt the tension flow from his shoulders, knowing he'd won.

TBC

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**Next Chapter: Truth in Fiction: **Yuki's inner Shu lends a hand.

**Reviews:** As always, thanks to _everyone_ for their encouragement. **Madxhatta: **where on earth do people get Shu and Yuki plushies? I WANT a pair! **Starbright: **Sorry about the chapter mixup! (Blush) **Rupan:** Thanks so much. I adore Shu, and some of the moments I like best are little things...like when he doesn't interrupt Yuki to say goodnight (anime) or the kid who's working late nights just to pay for his synthesizer. For all the craziness and emotion, there are seeds of a very special young man and it's fun to play with those. Hiro and Shu...what can I say? I love that friendship. **Morlana:** I hope this chapter explains how significant seeing that picture displayed was to Yuki's ability to take the next step. Essentially, he could no longer "rewrite" his private reality (as per Shu's assessment in "Snow") because the story had been, so-to-speak published, and his reality was no longer mutable. **Em-chan:** you're just always there cheering me on. Thanks so much. **Happynoon**: isn't it weird how FF-net won't let you go back in and put a second review up for the same chapter, then proceeds half the time to eat what you do write? Thanks for finishing on GB. I've seen nicotine withdrawal do some awful things to personalities and in Yuki's case, he's carrying a whole lot of suppressed anger...as I read him...due to one very important, unanswered question. **Di Long:** I do, indeed, have a cat. I've been owned by three different black male cats in my life, each a marvelously distinct personality. Yushu is based very much on my current fellow. **Hikaru Itsuko**: Thanks so much. Every once in a while, a scene "sings" to me, if that makes any sense. "Snow" and "Rose" felt special as I wrote it, and I don't think I changed more than a handful of words in edit...which is rare. I'm a compulsive rewriter. **The-loliita-doll: **Wow...that's a real honor. Maki Murakami has a very special touch with characters and story-telling and if I've managed to capture some of that, I'm thrilled. **Sik, Cocoke 5, and Jersey Thursday**: Not to worry. I suppose I shouldn't give things away, but these two belong together. Period end report. The question is always...how?

My thanks again to everyone who reviewed and to those just quietly reading away.

Til next time!—Vin


	9. Truth in Fiction

**Disclaimer:** Gravitation, its characters and milieu are the brain child and property of Maki Murakami. I'm just putting Yuki through misery to do my part to ensure that Shu's gorgeous voice lasts forever.

**A/N:** My thanks to TorringMay for pointing out that I never clarified where Yuki's rehab center is! I endeavored to fix it in the previous chapter, but for those who read before the new version was posted, this is a rehab center in Northern California that specializes in Hollywood's creative elite. No particular rehab center is intended, and the rehab practices implied are, to my admittedly limited understanding, fairly standard. More on this in the A/N at the end of the chapter.

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**Yushu**

Chapter Nine:

**Truth in Fiction**

_("I'm sorry, Yuki," the light voice whispers. "Forgive me—"_

_(A scream shatters the whisper.)_

Eiri bolted upright, brushed the blankets aside, and grabbed the laptop from the bedside table, forced trembling fingers to release the lid and lift it.

The blank screen that had faced him for days flickered to life.

He began to type.

✴✴✴

_Lost. He was lost. Utterly, irrefutably, lost. _

_Thrown away. Discarded. A frayed toy._

_Shuuichi wandered the mostly deserted terminal, striving for the courage to buy the ticket that would take him...home. Except, that it wasn't home. He didn't have a home, not any longer. His stuff was in a locker...somewhere. He hoped he could find it again. His toothbrush, a change of underwear...his drawing tablet that doubled as a notebook...those he had in his backpack._

_His head hurt...too much saki with Hiro. It was Hiro who advised him to go "home," to try again._

_It had made so much sense...at the time._

_Probably, it was the saki._

_He sighed, swiped his card through the reader and punched in the code for—_

"_Are you Shindou Shuuichi?"_

_He twisted to face the owner of the voice, a prettyish teenaged girl, and smiled tentatively. "Yes?"_

"_The Shindou Shuuichi? Of Bad Luck?"_

_He felt the smile widen into a grin. "Uh...yeah."_

_Her companion sighed and clasped her hands together. "Please, oh please, tell us...are you really dating the Yuki Eiri?"_

_Suddenly, he no longer felt like smiling. Yuki? What was she talking about? His relationship with Yuki was a secret...even before it ceased to be even that._

_He backed away as others heard the name Yuki Eiri and began to gather, asking questions._

Eiri's fingers slowed...and stopped.

It was one of the few details Shu had told him about _that _night. He'd seemed so proud of the attention Yuki's name had attracted. Not proud to be Yuki's lover, no, he'd no longer considered himself that, but proud _for_ Yuki.

And that made the entire detail suspect. Shu could hear 'New York Times Best Seller' in the phrase 'selling well,' when it came to Yuki's books. His insistence that a 'mob' was 'chasing him for miles' likely translated to a couple of fan girls following him all the way to the men's room. He always tried so hard to make Eiri feel good about himself; Eiri suspected this tale to have been one of those times.

He felt the tears begin, and knew a headache would soon follow, but he couldn't stop them, didn't, tonight, even try.

Shu had never, ever come clean with the details of _that _night, the night his rival singer, Aizawa Taki, had hired three goons to gang bang him. Eiri couldn't blame him for that silence. Shu had faced his demons and moved on and done it damned near on his own.

That didn't mean the nightmares didn't still haunt him, on occasion, but he'd never been inclined to share the details of that night. Not with Yuki. Not even with Hiro.

He'd asked Hiro, that last night before leaving Japan, only to discover that Hiro, too, had moved on. Away from the guilt, away from the anger.

Only he, Yuki, continued to relive it, day and night, every time he looked at his sweet, amazingly tough, little lover. And lying within that obsession, he'd come to realize, were the seeds of jealousy. Jealousy that Shuuichi _had_ been able to leave that seminal moment behind. Jealousy, not of Shuuichi, but of the fundamental resolution inherent in the event itself.

Because Shuuichi knew, exactly, why that assault on his body had taken place. Aizawa had planned to end his rival's singing career forever. The attempt had failed, Aizawa had been caught and punished, and Shuuichi had moved on.

So...why couldn't Yuki Eiri?

Here in the hospital, as the alcohol and nicotine cleared his veins, his mind had begun to seethe with the questions of what had happened to the man he treasured more than life itself, and more importantly, how and why. The one thing he knew for certain was that the blackmail photos Aizawa had taken were only part, a very small part, of the story. What had Yuki's cold, habitual silence following that incident forced Shuuichi to face alone?

All the time the doctors tried to get him to face his own life and his own issues, his mind kept rolling back to that one night that had hurt him more than anything that had ever happened with Kitizawa.

_Confront the death of your tutor..._

Oh, yes, he knew his root problem lay in Kitizawa. It didn't take some overpaid shrink to tell him that. His life, his very soul, had changed the night he killed his tutor...his first love. Kitizawa Yuki had gained his trust, had subtly encouraged that hormonally-induced lust that had filled his teenaged world with magic, then sold him to the lowest bidder..._surely _so young and innocent a fool as he'd been at the time had been worth more than a lousy ten bucks.

Kitizawa had sold him and he, in his turn, had shot the buyers with their own gun. The buyers...and the tutor who sold him.

Those were the facts of that day that changed his life, but as with Shuuichi's story, something was missing. Something...fundamental.,

He knew his salvation lay in understanding, truly understanding that night, in coming to terms with the betrayal. But as he'd tried to journal his feelings and memories...oh, yes, he'd tried...Shuuichi had begun to haunt his nightmares as well as his dreams and on the edge of sleep a story had begun to form.

He stared at the screen and the handful of paragraphs, wondering where it was about to take him, wondering, did he have the courage to go there, knowing, he had to find that courage, if he was ever to be whole.

He'd done his best to ignore the story, to follow the doctor's 'no work' instructions. He'd gone to group therapy and been full of helpful suggestions. Hell he'd done nothing but examine alternative mindsets and motivations and solutions for years through his 'complex and realistic' characters. That's what writing was all about, at least to him. He'd been _so _helpful, they'd finally thrown him out—at his fellow inmates' unified request.

Assholes couldn't stand a few home truths.

Then, he'd turned to that damned journal. He'd written down the events of _that_ day...all of _those_ days and given the damned bibliotherapist in charge a dozen alternative scenarios: what he could have done differently and the likely outcome. Easy. Hell, _he _edited reality on a daily basis.

None of it meant squat, because none of it dealt with the _real_ problem

He wasn't, dammit, some battered housewife drinking to escape the pain. Neither was he a mean drunk, a man so frustrated with his life that he drank to escape the frustration, and then, inhibitions lowered, took it out on his passive aggressive wive.

No, he was a man who drank and smoked to help him control the violent resentment seething beneath every moment of his seemingly perfect life.

Because that one, key day continued, despite all his efforts to exorcize it, to make no sense. He wasn't a man who could simply forgive and forget. Not his own actions; not those of others. His universe—his _story—_had to have pieces that fit together.

And Kitizawa's actions, his _motives,_ didn't fit. They never had.

There were pieces he simply didn't have, pieces, buried, perhaps, so deeply in memory he'd never understand. But as he'd striven to exhume those pieces, that _other _story had beckoned and so, in the end, all he'd done was take notes on that story that was, and wasn't, Shuuichi's. Was, because it was predicated on the handful of facts he had from that night, and wasn't, because those facts lacked so many, so very many, important details.

He had the computer now; the doctor had delivered it rather than the requested statistics. He hadn't asked again for those stats, didn't really want to know the answers, didn't _need_ to know. He already knew. In his gut, he knew. He'd made his point; he had his computer.

And hadn't been able to type a word.

Worse, ever, than the occasional writer's block; it was as if the door into that inner realm that communicated directly with his fingers had suddenly slammed shut. He'd been so certain, had known those edge-of-sleep symptoms, knew the story that lurked...

But it had eluded him for three days.

Until tonight.

Fear. Fear of what he'd find on the other side of that story.

Shuuichi's magical voice drifted from the laptop's speakers. The screen went dark, then flickered to life on a slideshow of the images taken of Shuuichi at that last photoshoot. He'd upgraded his laptop to a high grade AV model just for that screensaver—a program that allowed him to choose _his_ pictures and couple them with _his_ sound—just before coming here...

Only to have it stolen from him the moment he'd entered the building.

He squelched the resentment. The doctors operated on theory, that's all human nature was. They did their best. And at least they'd, finally, returned the computer to him. Now, it was up to him to prove his _own _theory of human nature.

Provided, of course, Yuki Eiri constituted any sort of 'human.'

He lay back, eyes closed, letting that silky voice permeate his being, letting it soothe his nerves the way he'd once depended upon nicotine.

Likely the idiot shrinks would just call this another addiction. Well, dammitall, he _was _addicted. To his pint-sized muse. What artist wasn't? On the other hand, how many artists were blessed with the ability to take their muse into their arms and bury themselves in that vital creative energy on a regular basis?

Addicted?

He inhaled deeply, swearing he could smell the strawberry pocky.

Hell, yes.

TBC

✴✴✴ ✴✴✴ ✴✴✴

**Next Chapter:** Go With the Flow: Yuki's inner Shu leads him to his answers.

**A/N:** This clinic section is the newest of the entire story. I didn't think I'd ever actually write it, and so never planned to post this story, because without it, the story is missing its soul. I knew, somehow, there was something missing in my understanding of the process my internal Yuki went through during this time. I knew Shu had to be part of his healing, but didn't know what form that participation would take.

Then, a friend of mine, a psychiatric nurse practitioner, was talking to me about a very famous TV writer who went into detox for drug addiction and told me about this standard procedure of not allowing him to write (work) while in there, and simultaneously demanding he write a journal.

My inner Yuki was, frankly, horrified. This entire section was the result of that conversation.

In all fairness to the people in a very difficult field of human health care, I haven't got the statistics Eiri asks for. I don't know how successful this practice is for writers. Suffice to say, however, the writer we were discussing was using again within the year. Is this why? I don't know, but it's definitely what I believe.

**Reviews:** I must say, I'm really grateful for how everyone is reacting to Yuki in rehab. Wasn't sure how that would go over. Hope this and chapter ten hold up to the promise of the first section. Thanks to _everyone _who read and a special thanks to those who took time to review. Specifics: **Ray: **So glad you liked it! As for your speculation...I'm a writer. Of _course _I analyze myself and those around me constantly:D Mostly, though, I try to inject myself into the viewpoint character and see the world through their eyes. More on that in the A/N above. Suffice to say, this was a very disturbing sequence to write. **Madxhatta**: WAHHH! Okay...I'm just going to have to make my own! Complete with widdle persponals. Maybe I'll even make a Yushu plushie:D **FreundlichFizzo:** I know and like lots of people who don't like cats! It's OK! I'm just glad you came back for the rest of the story! **TorringMay:** Thanks again for the heads up on "Where is Yuki." Hope the addition to the previous chapter cleared things up. **Em-chan, silvea, geniusgirl, Hikaru Itsuko, Xedra:** as always, hugs to my precious cheering squad. **Mistress of mist:** thank you. I see Eiri as a very passionate person, just rarely letting it out. **StarTrekObsessed:** Thanks _so_ much for coming back to review! I have a friend who is actually a practicing bibliotherapist...one technique of which is having people write their life story, then edit it, hoping they'll learn to see options to seemingly hopeless situations and revise their behaviors. I've always thought this wouldn't work at all with someone who was already a practicing writer. :D **Mayhem: **I'm glad so many people seem to find "my" Yuki acceptably IC. He is, of course, to me, but every fan establishes their own internal Yuki, so I really didn't know when I decided to post. Hope you like the rest of the story!


	10. Go With the Flow, Yuki sensei

**Disclaimer:** Gravitation belongs heart and soul and copyright to Maki Murakami.

**Summary: **With the help of his inner-Shu, Yuki finds his answers.

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**Yushu**

Chapter 10:

**Go With the Flow, Yuki-sensei**

✴✴✴

"_Shuuichi?"_

_It was a familiar voice from the far side of the bathroom stall door._

"_Shuuichi, I saw you come in here. It's safe. Come on out."_

_Shuuichi eased the lock to the side and cautiously poked his nose out, breathed a sigh of relief as he realized the only one there was his fellow NG vocalist._

"_Taki?" he whispered, still convinced all of Yuki's fans were waiting outside the bathroom door. "What are you doing here?"_

_A low chuckle eased his fears. "Was headed home when a herd of fan-girls thundered past. I saw a pink head duck in here, and guessed the rest."_

✴

What the hell? What's with the friendly tone? he asked his inner Shuuichi, who shrugged. Aizawa Taki had been his mentor. His friend at NG. Helping the younger singer past the rough spots of his career.

Except he hadn't. Aizawa was the singer from a rival NG band and had had it in for Shu from the start. He'd hired the damned thugs who'd gang-banged his lover.

His inner Shu just put his hands on his hips and tapped his foot impatiently. _"Just go with it, Yuki." _

Hell if. It wasn't the way he did things. He was an outline-style writer. He didn't just—

"_Fuck outlines, baka. You're a writer. Write."_

"Who're you calling baka, baka?"

Musical laughter rippled through his mind, phantom lips brushed his. _"Write."_

✴

"_And so the great Yuki Eiri dumped you, just like that."_

_Shuuichi winced, took another long drag at the glass of iced whiskey. "Yeah ..."_

_Suddenly, past the alcoholic haze, it hit him. He'd never said Yuki's name. Never once. He looked up in alarm, encountering a...satisfied...look that sent a chill down his spine. The look disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, leaving behind the friendly mentor he'd come to trust. _

"_Gossip, Shu-kun, just street gossip. But it's true, isn't it?"_

_Alarm dissipated. That satisfied look hadn't been real, had been a product of too much cheap scotch on top of too much cheap saki._

_He smiled weakly. "Not much point in denying it now, is there?"_

_The satisfied look returned ten-fold. A smirking smile that sent waves of solid ice down his spine, set him scrambling to his feet and toward the door. _

_As he shoved his feet into his shoes, the door opened behind him. He spun around on a still-stockinged foot—_

_To face three of the creepiest guys he'd ever seen._

_He backed slowly, unable to take his eyes from the face of the tallest of the lot, whose narrow-eyed gaze traveled up and down his body. He came up against a barrier: Taki._

"_It's showtime, boys," Taki's voice said from behind and overhead. The tall man's eyes caught and held Shuuichi's. A tongue appeared, made a slow circuit of thick lips._

_Like a hungry dog licking its chops._

_Shuuichi broke free of that predatory gaze and twisted to face Taki, lost, confused, unable to comprehend what in hell was going on._

"_Taki?"_

_A smile to match the rabid dog's appeared on his trusted mentor's face. A hand lifted to stroke his cheek and to Shuuichi's horror he couldn't escape the unwanted touch, his muscles seemingly turned to stone._

"_Poor little Shu. Everyone's pet. The golden voice in the body...of an idiot. Just like Ryuichi."_

"_Taki...you're scaring me. Cut this out. I'm—"_

"_You're Touma's next paycheck, sugar. And I'm last year's news."_

"_No—"_

"_Oh, yes. Unless we do something about it. Now."_

"_But—"_

"_I heard Touma, little golden boy. In the studio. He didn't even try to hide it. So...whatever happens now, you can thank Tou_

✴

Yuki lifted his hands, staring at the screen.

_Whatever happens now, you can thank Touma..._

✴

He closed the laptop slowly, gently, set it aside on the table...

And reached for the notebook.

✴

"_Whatever happens now, you can thank Touma ..." How could I ever have forgotten those words?_

_I remember, it was raining._

_That was surprising; it had been such a lovely, sunny afternoon, but by the time we reached his place, it was raining._

_Some god must have known. Some fucking, ineffectual god who could only weep for the innocence about to be lost._

_I remember...running. Touma had been late going to work. We had lunch. He talked of returning to Japan. _

_I wasn't happy._

_There was_

✴

Eiri paused, staring out the now-dark window. How could he have forgotten? He could see it clearly, now, as clearly as if he held the slip of paper in his hand.

✴

_a note. A note given me by a neighbor. A note from him._

Eiri pressed his lips tight, crossed out the last word and wrote: _Kitizawa._

_A time. A date. A destination._

_Nothing more._

_I ran all the way, though it was already past the time written in that note. I feared he'd be gone, but there he was. The sun was filtering down through the trees, motes making fairyland sparkles all around him, making him, as always, magical. Welcoming. _

_I feared he'd be angry at me being so late. And for a moment, through the sparkles, I thought he was. But then, I realized I was wrong. That mysterious, Mona Lisa smile that had always fascinated me was back, only this time, it had a hint of...that smile. What I've come to think of, in the years since, as the 'uber-polite-Japanese smile.' The smile that sent chills of revulsion down my spine, even then._

_I guess I've always hated lies. Pretense._

✴

Eiri set the pen down, staring at that last line, thinking of the hypocrisy. He, the world's premier master of the art of deception, hated pretense. It was, however, one reason he adored Shuuichi. If there was one word to describe his beloved idiot, that word was ingenuous. Sincere, artless, honest...

Damn, he missed him.

And there was only one way back.

Brutal, unrelenting truth.

He picked up the pen, set his jaw...and remembered...

✴

_I ignored the chill and embraced the Mona Lisa mystery._

_He said he was leaving soon. He was sorry, but we'd had the last of our lessons, and would I like to come to his apartment? He had a going away gift for me._

_That's when the rain started. A few spatters at first, quickly becoming a downpour. We laughed, and ran. I didn't really care where, I simply followed him, and as we ran, it finally hit me. He was leaving. I was going back to Japan. Back to the hatred. The taunts. The constant reminders of my differences. _

_Back to my father. Back to Expectations. And Yuki—my darling Yuki—would be a thing of the past._

_I remember stopping dead in my tracks. The rain pounding down on my head, running in rivers down my face._

_Disguising the tears._

_I didn't want him to leave. I didn't want to return to those hateful people. _

"_Eiri?" He stopped, turned, that beautiful smile still on his face. _

"_Don't go," I whispered. "Don't leave me."_

_He walked back to me. Slowly, His eyes never leaving mine. "I've no choice, my beautiful, perfect student."_

_He slid smoothly into the shadows between tall brick buildings; I followed as if in a trance. His long-fingered hands lifted, cupped my face, wiping away the tears._

_He was taller than I. As tall as I am now, I suppose, and larger, though not heavy. Solid. Strong. Stable. There for me and only for me._

_As no one in my life had ever been. My father, tall, solid, had been the worst of the offense the world of my birth had mounted against me. Mika had been caught between love for me and love for our father. Tatsuha was...Tatsuha. Young. And yet, to do him credit, he'd been my only real friend in a world of enemies. _

_Touma...Touma had tried, but Touma was...small. He stood between me and the world with words. Yuki...protected me physically. Made me feel safe just by his presence._

✴

And even compared to sixteen year old Eiri, Shuuichi was still a midget. The pen dropped from fingers gone numb. After his rape, had Shuuichi felt that way about him? Shuuichi always radiated such surprising strength, when in reality, he was very small. Fragile. And yet...

He buried his face in his crossed arms, remembering tears held in abeyance for six years, remembering slim arms enfolding him, holding him against the terrors hiding behind his eyes, remembering the unconditional love exuding from that slender body holding him close.

Supporting him. Nurturing _him _in _his_ time of weakness when it was Shuuichi who should have been crying. When it was Shuuichi's fresh fears that Yuki should have been addressing, instead of wallowing in his own entrenched fear of betrayal.

Small. Yes. Physically fragile, yes. Weak?

Never.

✴

_Yuki...loved me. Dammit, yes, he loved me. I know he did._

_Once._

_It was a shallow love, a self-centered love, but it was, in its own sick way, an honest love. And I was caught up in that love, basking in it, wallowing for that moment in time in all the "if onlys."_

_As those long fingers caressed my drenched face, his head lowered. Water dripped from his hair and into my eyes. I blinked, not wanting to look away, though I felt the heat rise in my face._

_His lips touched each eye, gently, then lowered to take my mouth._

_My first kiss._

_And it was perfect. Rain-drenched. Untarnished. Filled with the might-have-been of lives parting too soon._

"_Whatever happens now," he whispered against my lips, "you can thank Touma."_

✴

"Damn." Eiri set the pen down, threw the notebook onto the bed and began pacing the room.

In that sense, the doctor had been right. The computer wasn't the way to write...that. It did need to come directly out of the hand. Something...visceral in the feel of the pen on the paper.

He'd been right as well. He'd _needed _the computer. Needed to begin the story that was haunting him, because hidden in _his_ reading of Shu's truth...lay his own truth. But there was something in the transfer, one to the other...he realized that the story had grown as well as the journal. One to the other...

One to the other.

Fuck.

✴

_Shuuichi froze, unable to believe the depth of the betrayal. Touma? Why Touma? What had Touma done to cause..._

"_He saw you, Shindou, on the damned quiz show. He liked what he saw. A lot. Realized he had another damned Ryuichi at his fingertips. My life is over, if you're around. Over thanks to a rich, arrogant bastard's whim."_

✴

_My life's over ... Rich, arrogant bastard's whim..._

No. Not whim. Jealousy.

Eiri reached again for the journal.

✴

"_My life's over, Eiri. He saw us. Realized what we've become to one another."_

_What we'd become to one another? What did he mean? I didn't know. I'd never guessed that the closeness I felt to my tutor was returned._

_Until now._

_Until those lips brushed mine so...oh, so sweetly._

"_Over?" I whispered back, against his lips, lost to everything but that marvelously new sensation._

"_Over. Because of a rich, arrogant bastard's jealousy."_

_He took my hand and pulled me into the shadows, through a door and up three flights of stairs. He had a bottle of something in a bag. He took long swallows as he walked, his lean throat working in slow, elegant contractions. _

_I was...fascinated. Everything about him...fascinated. _

_We reached the top of the steps. There was a door, a door Yuki opened without a key, a room with large, barred windows down which the rain cascaded, streams of water casting living shadows on the wooden floor. Not smooth, polished wood, like Touma had in his apartment, but ragged, sad wood. Used and tired. Scuffed by uncaring feet, cracked and gouged by furniture, carved by knives, engraved with cryptic messages of love and hate._

_And for a moment, Yuki looked the same as that floor: used and tired._

_I recall going to him, hugging him tightly about the waist, sobbing like an idiot. Begging him not to leave—_

_Dear Buddha in heaven, is that why I try so hard to stop Shuuichi? Why even now, the very thought of him holding me, begging me not to throw him out or leave or any of a dozen other Shuuichi needs, rouses a revulsion so profound it makes me physically ill?_

_Then why is it that, thinking about those arms around me now, at this moment, makes me feel starved? Dear, sweet Buddha, I want him. Need him. Desperately._

✴

The last paragraphs blurred and ran, and Eiri pushed the journal away, crossed his arms on the table and buried his face, letting the tears flow.

It wasn't Shuuichi. It had never been Shuuichi's sweet, honest actions that repulsed him. It had been the ghost of his own humiliation.

He'd begged Yuki not to leave, not to let Touma take him back to Japan...had believed, in that one magical moment, that his future, his happiness, _required_ Kitizawa Yuki.

And Kitizawa had laughed. Hard. Angrily. And then his face had changed, grown hungry as he downed the last of the wine and opened another.

Cheap, sour wine, Eiri had been able to tell from the smell.

Yuki had taught him to know the difference. And now, here was Yuki, getting shit-faced on bad wine he'd told Eiri never to touch. More, he offered the bottle to Eiri, snarling angrily when he turned away, confused and growing scared.

That's when the touches ceased to be pleasurable. That's when the kisses turned sour. He'd pulled away, run to the door...

And there _they _were.

The rest...damn, he knew the rest. Yuki had sold him for a pittance, had thrown himself on a threadbare couch and watched as those creatures stole his student's innocence. Had been so drunk by the time they were done that he barely noticed when Eiri shot them with the gun that had been so conveniently close to the captured hand the largest had used to stimulate himself while his colleague had been otherwise occupied.

Yuki had sobered up fast enough when that gun turned toward him. Curiously, he'd just stood there. Stood there and said, quietly, "Do it."

Eiri had forgotten that.

And when Eiri had hesitated, when the gun had begun to shake in his unaccustomed grip, Yuki had advanced on him, saying in his beautiful, flawless Japanese:

"Do it, Eiri-chan. I'd rather die at your hand than in some forgotten third-world village, and that's where I'm bound, unless I die here. Today. It's the only place for me, now your precious Touma has targeted me."

He _hadn't _remembered that. Hadn't heard his tutor speak in their native language for so long, the meaning of the sounds hadn't even registered. He remembered Yuki advancing slowly on him, the gentle smile, the hands reaching to take him, ignoring the gun.

"Touma believes you're his to command, his precious little boy-whore, but you're not, are you, Eiri? Beautiful, gentle Eiri-chan. You belong to me, don't you?" And the lips had descended again, the hands followed paths already blazed by other, rougher hands, and for a moment, Eiri drifted, free in that difference, then suddenly, as pain blazed through him, Yuki was forgotten, and it was only the blackness, the anger, the fear ...

And another blinding blast in the darkness...

Another deafening roar in the silence.

And another.

And another...

Until the gun was empty and it was only the frustrated _click_ of the hammer breaking the silence...

Until the screams began.

TBC

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**Next chapter: **Magical Mystery Tour

**Reviews:** Again, to EVERYONE, I can't thank you enough. I'm thrilled with the reception this story is getting. **happynoon: **I totally agree. I can appreciate all kinds of stories and pairings, but for me, that optimism is an essential part of the Yuki/Shu story.** Madxhatta**: Thanks! I adore these characters. I've not been a FAN of something in a loooong time...until these kids came along. I hope you like my take on the Kitizawa thing. It's hinted at here...more in the last chapter. **Mistress of Mist:** You know...I really can't blame doctors...I'm not certain anyone who doesn't write could really understand what Yuki is saying...but I certainly hope to get the opportunity some day to discuss this with a practicing therapist and see what their reaction to my theory is. **Bakayarona:** Again, thanks for reviewing and so putting me onto your stories! (Actually, this to all the other writers who have reviewed. I'm slowly working my way through your stories! I fear I'm one of the world's slowest readers.) I seriously envy you that exercise in descriptive writing. I only wish I could make my descriptive passages so utterly readable! Thanks also for the link to the plushies-pic. They're darling. My chance of getting same is pretty much nil, coming into the fandom so belatedly, so guess I'll have to make my own. This pic will help me figure how to do it. When I do, I'll reciprocate with pix. I'm thinking it would be fun to make a variety of outfits for Shu. I have another Yushu-inspired CCS in the works now which I hope you'll enjoy. The title is "Smoochies." :D

Thanks again for reading, everyone, and if you've got time, I'd love your reactions! ---Vin


	11. Magical Mystery Tour

**Disclaimer:** Gravitation is Maki Murakami's, pure and simple.

**Summary: **Shu's tour ends with a bang, Yuki comes home.

**A/N:** I have to admit, I'm not totally satisfied with this chapter. I feel like my inner-Eiri is trying to tell me something and I might be missing the point a bit. i.e...I think this chapter's got the potential to be richer than it is. Honest reactions, in private or as reviews would be appreciated. And to readers, don't be surprised if this chapter ends up edited, eventually.

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**Yushu**

Chapter Eleven:

**Magical Mystery Tour**

"_On the international entertainment front, the hugely popular Japanese J-Pop band, 'Bad Luck,' finished its latest tour with typical melodramatic flare last night. In the final moments of their fifth encore, Shuuichi Shindou, their energetic lead singer collapsed on stage ..."_

Eiri's heart stopped.

When that essential organ resumed its steady, if somewhat accelerated rhythm, he slowly lowered the lid of his laptop, removed his glasses and sought the large, flat-screen television mounted on the far wall of the mostly empty, sunlit sitting room. On the screen: a confused, too-tight shot of men in white carrying a stretcher off Zep Tokyo's small, intimate stage.

With a little gasp, Eiri remembered to breathe. Last night. Last night. In Japan. It couldn't be as bad as it looked. Hiro would have called. Dammit, he _would._

The scene shifted to a shot of Shuuichi on stage, _his_ stage, so he called it, insisting on ending every tour there. It was, so he claimed, how he knew he was home.

His eyes were closed, that slender hand caressing the mike as only he could. Eiri knew, even before the sound director floated that spectacular voice into the audio background, what song the kid was singing, could tell by the look on his face.

"_Mere moments earlier, the pink-haired, heart-throb wonder was crooning another of the band's hit songs, a rather haunting ballad called—"_ The bespectacled announcer leaned closer to her teleprompter. _"—Er, 'In the Moonlight.' The song, so insider sources say, was debuted last year at the Tokyo Bay Music Festival and was dedicated to—" _Another squint. _"His long-time lover, the popular romance novelist—_Eiri Yuki?_" _The final words escaped in a startled squeak.

_Good lord, woman,_ Eiri thought in a little-used corner of his brain, his primary faculties busy drinking in the sight of his pint-sized lover, _what planet have you been living on? You call yourself an entertainment expert?_

"_...futari mita ..."_

Anyone who knew him could see the signs.

"_...anohi no tsuki o ..."_

The tears were dribbling down his smooth cheeks (The idiot shaved regularly, despite the fact he had, maybe, three hairs on his chin. Maybe. On a good day.); his hands gripped the mike; his eyes were closed; the sway of his slight frame was fucking ominous ...

"_...ima dokode kimi wa miteru ..."_

Hiro had known. Hiro's horrified gaze was glittering in the shadows beyond the spotlight, unblinking, staring at his partner, and as those final notes slid out of that luscious mouth, Hiro's guitar twanged loudly, abandoned on the stage as Hiro leapt to catch the collapsing singer.

"_Early reports out of NG-Pro's publicity department are not optimistic."_

A series of paparazzi shots of Shuuichi in a hospital room overflowing with flowers and cards, stacks of pocky boxes and mounds of strawberries, of Hiro at his side, looking straight into each and every camera, giving Eiri the uncomfortable feeling the guitarist was staring straight at him...which he might well have been.

Shuuichi appeared oblivious, to both cameras and visitors. Curled on his side, bare shoulder peeking out from cover and oversized hospital gown, he hugged what appeared to be a large black stuffed animal—until it moved.

A gentle smile tugged the corners of Eiri's mouth. Only Shindou Shuuichi could manage to smuggle a cat into a hospital bed.

"_According to NG-Pro, the singer is suffering from exhaustion resulting from this latest tour, and will be taking at least a month off. Unofficial sources suggest the popular 'Shu-kun' is suffering from a more serious condition, a total psychological breakdown resulting from his much-publicized ..."_ The 'reporter's' dark eyes widened and her voice took on that peculiar, vacuously rising note only newscasters surprised by their own cue cards could achieve._ "...breakup with that same _Eiri Yuki_?"_ Her eyes sought someone off to the side. _"So he's still avail—"_

An off-camera cough and the idiot female gave herself a visible shake.

Much publicized, but never confirmed, Eiri corrected her teleprompt silently, as the scene shifted to some stock footage of the band. Oh, the papers had been full of it, but Shuuichi had never said a word, certainly NG hadn't, and he...well, he'd been long gone, now hadn't he?

Eiri turned his eyes to the bright California sun outside the picture windows. Six months here. Seven, since he'd disappeared from his lover's life. Three or more since he'd made his literary breakthrough on his own reality. He'd finished Shu's story, wiped the serial numbers off and turned it into his next best seller. Not even Shu would recognize it now.

And then he'd begun work on his own biography, a manuscript that would have only one reader, other than himself. A most important audience of one.

If he was willing. If, sweet Buddha in heaven, he would grant the man who deserted him that one final kindness.

But that, Eiri knew, was indulgent self-pity thinking. Shuuichi would always give him one more chance, that was the problem. Shuuichi would try desperately to understand—and to make excuses for him if he fucked things up. _He_ had to be ready to make the determination of whether life with Yuki Eiri was good or bad for the infinitely forgiving Shuuichi.

The problem was, he wasn't certain he'd have the strength to leave again, should he decide to the negative, and that uncertainty had kept him here, well past the time he'd been declared 'cured.' He had his own definition of that word, and the crux of that definition lay in the completion of that autobiography.

There was still so much he needed to understand.

"_He still loves you,"_ Hiro had written, in the note accompanying the last smuggled CD. _"There's been no one else. No one."_

That, and no more. On the one hand, no more was needed, as Hiro had seemed to realize. On the other, the question had remained, did Shuuichi still want him? Still... _need _him?

He'd learned many things about himself, writing Shuuichi's story and his own. He loved Shuuichi. He wanted him. More, he needed him—for a hell of a lot more than just sex. He needed the joy, the hope, the inspiration, the irritation and the frustration. All those things that made his world sing and his writing thrive.

He also knew his pride couldn't take this fundamental needing without being needed in return. Shuuichi...fulfilled him, provided significant missing parts. He didn't think he could stand being less than that for Shuuichi. Theirs was a love of checks and balances, of mutual creative inspiration. He couldn't stand it being less, couldn't stand it being one-sided, with him on the taking side.

Better to remain alone. For both of them. He couldn't accept being some kind of emotional and spiritual vampire, taking and taking, supplying nothing but sex in return. In the end, such an arrangement would destroy them both.

And so, that question had remained: Did Shuuichi need him?

His eyes returned to that screen which had moved on, now, to a weather disaster somewhere in the world.

Seven months. Seven...very long months. And Shuuichi had been doing fine. Better than fine; he'd been flourishing. Songs had happened on schedule. Good songs...Eiri knew that from the CDs and videos Hiro had managed to send from Japan—and hadn't _that_ been a circuitous routing...all to avoid Touma's spies. Eiri had thought he'd have time to finish that second book, the one he'd hoped would explain...everything.

He'd thought he'd have time. He'd thought he had his answer, that Shuuichi _didn't _need him.

Another glance at the screen which saw not flooding, but a small figure surrounded by everyone and everything except the one person who should be there.

He'd been wrong.

✴✴✴

The condo was unchanged—on the outside. Within...a fresh, citrus scent filled the outer entrance hallway, and on the door, some welcoming plaque, complete with (god help him) a painted pink Kumogoro.

At least his key still worked.

There were lights on in the living room, and the TV was going. Wonder who was housesitting for the brat...surely they hadn't released him from the hospital yet? The reports had been...dire at best.

Exhaustion hit him like a sledgehammer to the solar plexis. He _didn't_ want to deal with anyone at the moment. He'd come here hoping to shower and sleep, to gather his wits after the long flight and prepare himself for...whatever awaited him in the hospital. He'd planned on a private meeting with Shuuichi's physicians...all of them, thank you very much. And another, more personal meeting with Shuuichi's best friend and confidant. Dammit, he had to be certain he read those looks correctly. He..._they_...couldn't afford any more...incorrect assumptions.

That's why he hadn't called. He didn't want Touma or Mika or even Hiro meeting him at the airport and filling him with extraneous details. He'd wanted the doctors' reports—and he'd wanted to see Shuuichi. Time enough for all the stress of dealing with his family and their recriminations after his concern for Shu was settled.

Nothing for it...He forced his muscles to strict obedience...no collapsing allowed...and headed for the living room, where he found familiar mahogany hair gleaming in the light from the TV.

"Welcome home, Yuki-san."

✴

What the hell was it about Nakano Hiroshi? Eiri thought, sitting a couch away from Bad Luck's skinny guitarist. He was tranquillity incarnate. No wonder the hyperactive Shuuichi had gravitated toward him all those years ago; no wonder Shuuichi still turned to him as an adult when the world got too confusing for him...which most of the time.

This time, it was Yuki Eiri's chance to bask in that serenity.

There were no recriminations...for all he'd placed a heavy burden on Hiro all those months ago. Hiro alone had known where he was and Hiro alone had had the ability...and the right, to call him back, no questions asked.

Hiro hadn't done that. Hiro had remained silent, because, according to Hiro, Shuuichi had been coping well on his own.

The concert tour, however, had taken its toll on Shuuichi, physically and mentally. He'd almost called, Hiro said, a dozen times that last week, but he hadn't heard from Yuki, hadn't gotten the 'all clear and ready to surface' message he'd been waiting for, and as long as Shuuichi held it together, he'd wanted to give Yuki all the time he needed.

"One thing Shuuichi doesn't need," Hiro said, in that warm, quiet voice of his, "is another failed attempt."

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be," Yuki responded to the implied question. "My doctors declared me ready to leave weeks ago."

"But you didn't trust them?"

"My body was ready, my heart wasn't."

Hiro nodded. "I understand that." A sly grin, offer of a secret, shared amusement. "No sensei could truly understand the challenges of living with Shuuichi."

He returned the smile, but only enough to acknowledge the shared secret. "Challenges, yes. More...responsibility. It's...terrifying to be the object of that kind of love. He has no checks, no sense of self-preservation."

"I don't think," Hiro said slowly, "that it's all that different from what you feel for him. He's ... really very lucky."

"Lucky? After how I treated him? Considering how I likely will treat him in the future? We can't be naive, Hiro. I am what I am. I'm going to get wrapped up in a plot, I'm going to be channeling some asshole of a character, and I'm going to bite his poor pink head off when he pokes it unexpectedly into my office. I'm going to have deadlines. I'm going to ignore him for days on end. I'm going to miss concerts I promised to attend, because I'm wrapped up in a scene and forgot to look at the clock."

"I have only one question. Are you going to hit him again?"

"No."

"Pretty quick to answer."

"No question in my mind."

"Come to terms with yourself, then, have you?"

"As much as any writer can afford. His isn't the only muse in need of protection."

Hiro's slender shoulders heaved, his head dropped, and suddenly the strain of the last few months showed. He stood up, set an exhaustion-heavy hand on Yuki's shoulder, and headed for the door.

"Want a ride home?"

He shook his head. "I'll manage."

"You could sleep here."

A faint smile. "Somehow, I suspect both of you would rather otherwise."

"I'm not sure about that."

"You will be. Good night, Yuki-san."

✴

The door clicked shut behind Hiro. Moments later, the sound of his bike leaving rumbled in through the open window.

Even the motorcycle sounded tired.

Yuki stared at the array of pills on the table before him: Shuuichi's prescriptions. He was all too familiar with the lot; had taken them all at one point or another. Knew the side effects...intimately.

Hiro shouldn't have bothered. If Shuuichi was on all these, he'd barely know what planet he was on. He certainly wouldn't be interested in the sort of activity reunions between lovers usually entailed.

But this wasn't really a reunion; it was an ambush.

Dammit, he hadn't meant for it to happen this way. He'd planned on the protection of the sterile hospital environment, of the restraints on behavior dictated by such a locale, had thought to give Shuuichi that chance to reject his return gracefully.

He hadn't planned on facing a Shuuichi held captive by a cartload of soporific drugs and in the bed they'd shared.

Well, one thing he'd learned in these past months was to punt.

He sighed and stood up, began closing the last of the chasm between them one slow step at a time.

God, he hated sports metaphors.

TBC

✴✴✴ ✴✴✴ ✴✴✴

**Next Chapter:** Coming Home: Yuki and Shu's reunion.

**Reviews: ANKuma:** thanks for sticking with me despite your reservations! Regarding the cocaine: in my admittedly limited experience, people do very stupid things when they are self-medicating for symptoms rather than addressing underlying psychological problems. I wanted a drastic behavior to trigger a drastic behavior and not only is cocaine, unfortunately, all too common in the creative world, but it can cause the kind of behavior I needed to trigger Yuki's decision to leave and actually do something about the smoking. In my inner-Yuki's defense, he does only use it once before coming to his senses. I put him in rehab because that's what our society believes will work, but you'll notice, he cured himself. ;-) I suspect Shu resonates for Eiri in a whole lot of ways. I, too, find the parallel between Shu's rape and Eiri's to be pretty inescapable and fundamental to their relationship and to the story itself. **Happynoon:** Regarding Kitizawa and his motivations... I have a feeling that something major has been lost in the translation of the manga. I'd dearly love to know how MM actually interprets this part of the story. Regarding Touma's actions...there's a bit more explanation in the upcoming chapter. In this case, he did something quite ethical which simply had a horrific fallout. **Dambae: **Thanks for reviewing and OH NO! (My muse just gained ten pounds.) (Is anyone else here addicted to pocky? Men's pocky, the dark chocolate one, is my personal downfall. Loved the reverse strawberry best, but it's all gone now. WAH! I've one box in my freezer awaiting a special occasion.)

These responses/notes got kinda long, so...Everyone at FF-net...I love you! Thanks so much!—Vin

**A/N:** As always, my thanks for reading and reviews are greatly appreciated!


	12. Coming Home

**Disclaimer:** Gravitation is Maki Murakami's marvelous brain-child, not mine. No profit here, unless pleasure counts.

**Summary:** The title says it all.

**Reviews: **My thanks to all who read and especially to those who take the time to review. Review responses for these last two chapters will be made in private or appear in the review section. Somehow...I just didn't want to break the mood.

✴✴✴  
**Yushu  
**Chapter 12:  
**Coming Home  
**✴✴✴

He'd never seen anything so beautiful.

All these months he'd had his precious slideshow, but the best photographers armed with top of the line cameras couldn't hope to capture the magic of that sweet face.

Shuuichi was asleep. Hardly a surprise, though the naturally curved, pillow-hugging attitude was, a bit, considering the chemical cocktail running in his veins. In the curve of his body, under the covers, was another lump, a lump that achieved, at the right angle, a furry black head pillowed on Shuuichi's arm.

It was, Eiri was almost sorry to note, one of his Shu's non-drooling nights. He rather liked the loopy, drooling, grinning-in-his-sleep Shuuichi. That was Shuuichi at his happiest. This was Shuuichi with a hint of sadness. There was a slight tension in the lower lip, evidence that the hidden, sparkling white teeth had captured a bit of that vulnerable flesh and were holding it hostage.

It was a Shuuichi neglected too long, the Shuuichi he'd find waiting for him following an overlong sprint to a deadline.

The vision blurred, fractured as Eiri blinked the dampness from his eyes. Time was he'd fall into that bed, kiss the sadness away and awake the neglected body for a violent but mutually satisfying union before falling into a near coma for forty-eight hours, a drooling, smiling Shuuichi held captive in his arms.

But not this time. He had neither the right, nor the inclination.

Oh, he wanted him. His body ached to feel that tempered torso pressed against him, the dancer's butt embracing his aching cock, the sweet mouth opening to his tongue...but Shuuichi had to be given the choice. Not just for Shuuichi's sake, but for his own. He had to know that Shuuichi still wanted him, not out of pity, not out of habit, not out of some stupid sense of loyalty, but out of love.

Foolish, some would say, to doubt. Shuuichi declared his love so openly, who could possibly doubt it? But it had been more than seven months. He'd been humiliated, then abruptly deserted. Oh, he'd be welcome in that bed, he had no doubt, he loved the sex as much Eiri did, but Shuuichi was all those things as well: tender-hearted, loyal...and yes, stupidly, blindly so. Eiri didn't want blind loyalty, he wanted facts on the table, warts and all love.

He knew that now.

He only hoped he'd be able to tell the difference.

Eiri lowered himself into a chair beside the window, exhausted, not just from the flight but from the million and one versions of his reunion with Shuuichi that had played out in his mind ever since he'd booked the flight back to Japan, none of which remotely matched his current reality.

And yet, somehow, at the moment, none of that mattered; not the doubts, not the whim of fate. Somehow, at the moment, he wanted nothing so much as to watch Shuuichi breathe.

His bones settled gratefully into the soft cushions. The chair was new...or at least purchased since he'd left. It was...very Shuuichi. Too large...at least for the diminutive singer, it fit him (he settled his butt another comfortable degree) quite well, thank you. He could easily imagine sitting here, book in hand, Shuuichi curled...just so in his lap.

He smiled at the gentle fantasy, wondering whether Shuuichi had had the same dream, there in the store, when he'd chosen this chair. He let his head fall back into the cushions, tilting his face toward Shuuichi, unable to stop looking at him, though his eyes burned, the lids falling to half-mast...

He awoke with a start. A hissing protest and sharp pain in his leg warned against further movement.

Yushu had joined him in the chair, a Yushu several times the size he'd been when last he'd occupied that position. And not an ounce of fat on him: obviously he and Shuuichi had continued to keep each other in tip-top condition.

"Remember me, do you?" he murmured, scratching the expectant chin, and received a purr and kneading claws in answer. The cat settled, and he turned his attention to the rest of the lump in his bed.

Shuuichi stirred and rolled over, a bare shoulder and back peaking out from the covers. That was different. Shuuichi always wore a shirt of some kind to bed, though it didn't always remain in place. His nipples were ridiculously sensitive to cold...

Eiri's groin tightened as his palms remembered those tiny puckered mounds, his ears the smothered squeal as his memory-self endeavored to calm the multitudinous nerve endings with warming breath and mouth.

Sometimes, he'd just smashed the mounds against the hard muscle beneath and the kid would scream—right before they both exploded.

It was a testament of just how tired he was that his reaction to that memory only marginally disturbed the cat sitting on his lap.

Yushu, never content with his bony knees for long anyway, stretched and wound a sinuous path across window sills and bedside table, back to Shuuichi...all without walking on the brat... appearing again in front of that precious little upturned nose that was half-drowned in overlong pink hair, worming his way back under the covers and into the arms of his beloved human familiar.

Shuuichi murmured something and curled a degree tighter, pulling the now-content cat close.

Then came the sound guaranteed to break through Eiri's best defenses.

Shuuichi was crying.

Not the wailing he expected all those around him to ignore, but the near-silent, private sobs that only came when he was truly suffering.

And Yuki Eiri's defenses were far from at their best.

"Shu-chan?" he murmured, and shifted position to perch gingerly on the side of the bed, reaching across to touch that bare shoulder. He hadn't meant for it to happen this way, but perhaps it was best: sleep as well as chemicals would buffer the shock of his unannounced reappearance.

"Yu...ki ..." That sleep-filled murmur...god, how well he knew it, how often in the past months he'd heard it in his dearest dreams. Shuuichi recognized his touch past all the barriers of sleep. He always had. From that first night spent on his couch.

Crying in his sleep. Crying because of dreams. Dreams of...him. He stroked the soft skin and the supple body twisted around, slender arms raised in dream-driven supplication.

Eiri resisted that unconscious plea, for all the denial twisted his heart. Hiro had insisted there was still room for him in Shuuichi's life. He wanted desperately to believe that. But damned if he'd compromise—

"So, what's a man gotta do to get a kiss around here?"

He jumped, and a giggle happened from that supposedly dreaming body.

"Shuuichi...I ..."

Like living liquid, Shuuichi flowed up and over him, wrapping bare arms around his neck, pulling him tight for a kiss that was anything but sleepy or drug-hazed. He responded with all the denied need of months filled with far too much self-evaluation.

"I never thought—" The hungry mouth latched onto his released him long enough to gasp. "—I'd forget—how good—you—"

The mouth broke away, Shuuichi's slender hands clenched in his shirt, holding him steady for a wide-eyed perusal.

Those eyes closed, and Shu leaned close, inhaling deeply. Eiri held steady, suspecting the reason. More of those deep breaths, sniffing him like the puppy Shu sometimes resembled. The slender body stretched around him to grab the coat he'd draped over the chair back and pull it into Shuuichi's lap. More sniffing, a search of the pockets that turned up the stickered lighter Yuki would never willingly part with, but nothing else...

Well, a half-finished pack of Wrigley's Spearmint, but that hardly counted.

Or maybe it did.

Shuuichi, holding that packet of gum in one hand like some kind of talisman, grabbed Eiri's shirt with the other and pulled him close to press their lips together again, his tongue brushing lightly, a request Eiri granted willingly enough.

A brief exploration, and his mouth was his own again.

Shuuichi released his shirt to drop back to the bed, crosslegged, still mostly hidden by blankets and Eiri's coat. Fortunately. Eiri wasn't certain he had the fortitude to resist the full view: the brat was totally bare, and those overly sensitive nipples weren't the only body parts standing at attention.

Although that more southerly excitement had evidently eased with this new fascination in a package of gum. One piece carefully removed and unwrapped, disappeared slowly...god, _seductively_...into that intoxicating mouth. Bright eyes closed as the jaw worked in slow motion. Six...seven...he found himself counting the number of contractions. Then, in one, smooth motion, Shuuichi slipped the gum out, into the wrapper, and pulled him close into a full-open kiss, sharing that initial burst of flavor, so refreshing, so quickly gone.

When one depended on the gum to retain it. As an appetizer for essential Shuuichi...that burst was more than sufficient.

Shuuichi broke free and buried his face in Yuki's neck.

"You quit. You truly, truly quit. I don't even taste the patch."

"I truly, truly quit."

Those small, surprisingly strong hands balled in his sleeves and Shuuichi pulled back to look at him seriously.

"And you're okay with it?"

He didn't answer too fast, knowing Shuuichi wanted an honest answer, but the truth came easily. Now.

"More than okay." He leaned forward to kiss Shuuichi lightly. "_Especially_ now. I had no idea just _how_ good you tasted."

He chuckled. "The gum—"

"Not the gum, baka. You."

That got him. More near mindless devouring as Shuuichi's bare body rose out of the rainbow patterned (not of _his _choosing!) sheets, rather like Venus rising from the waters...or perhaps cupid...or perhaps—

Fuck metaphores.

He gave himself up to that mouth, letting his hands find and warm the smooth, tight flesh of Shuuichi's butt and back, reveling in the revival of his most treasured sensual memories, yet all the time thinking something was wrong—

He shoved the brat down onto the bed, pulled the covers up over him to both hide the view and hold him captive.

"You're clean!"

"Well...yeah. I took a shower—"

"Not _that_ kind of clean. There's a whole chemical cocktail out there that should have had you dumber than dirt. _This—"_ he gave the blanketed erection a gentle nudge with his knee, "should be damnwell impossible."

"Uh...well ..." Shuuichi looked away, his lower lip caught between his teeth.

"You didn't take them."

"Uh...well...yeah, I did."

"Good...god. They're placebos."

"Huh?"

"Sugar pills. Fakes."

"Uh...well ..."

"Dammit, how dare they?"

"Uh...well ..."

"You knew?"

"Uh...well ..."

Suddenly, he realized. "You little snake!"

Frantic eyes met his. "I _had_ to, Yuki! It...it was my last chance. I knew you'd hear, if you weren't watching. I knew you'd come back, if you could. If you _wanted_ to." Small hands forced their way free of the sheets to grip his wrists. "I waited, Yuki, as long as I could. I gave you time to sort things out. I _didn't_ ask K to find you. But I...it was getting harder and harder. I didn't know, was it truly over between us. I couldn't wait any longer. Hiro asked did I want to send for you, but I didn't. I _didn't_ want to. I wanted you to come back on your own. You had to come back because _you_ decided."

Yushu jumped up on the bed, and slipped between them to pat Shuuichi's face reassuringly. Shuuichi's right hand left his wrist to stroke the cat. The cat who had been there for him all these months, who'd joined him in the hospital.

The hospital.

"You wanted an answer," Eiri said flatly. "So you faked a collapse."

Shuuichi winced and Yushu glared up at Eiri accusingly. Eiri glared back.

"Not...not faked, Yuki, just...finally stopped fighting." The impish excitement that had filled Shuuichi's face faded, leaving behind the strain that had obviously prompted that offer from Hiro.

Shuuichi worked his way free of the restraining covers and hugged the cat close. The cat, with the ease of a much-practiced routine, began to purr and rubbed the top of his head against Shuuichi's chin, bringing a slow, tired smile to the gentle face. Brilliant purple eyes lowered, their telltale emotion hidden behind long-lashed lids.

"I asked the sensei to...pretend. Sort of. At least to make the reports worst case instead of best...then asked her to pretend with the drugs, too...just for a week. She didn't want to, but I'd seen, with you, how hard it is to balance all those things, and I didn't want to be _that _way, if... I wanted to give you time to get here. I...I had to have the fakes so they—all of them, Hiro, Seguchi-san...all of them...would believe ..." The strained recitation drifted off into a whispered apology—of sorts. "I—I guess I'm sorry, Yuki. It probably wasn't fair. I...No, dammit, I'm not." His head tipped back and his eyes were bright again, his lips pressed together in tight determination. "I love you, Yuki. You love me—I know you do even if you don't say it. If you've solved that smoking thing, _and _the hitting thing, then there's no reason for us to be apart. If I hadn't collapsed, would you have come back?"

Not a shallow question.

He answered slowly..."If you'd asked ..."

"If I'd come begging, you mean. Well, I'm not begging. Yeah, I want to be with you, but only if you want to be here. You came back because you chose to. Stay or leave, but do it because it's what _you_ want."

"What I want? God, no one's ever asked me that."

"Because you've made a lifelong habit of taking things. You don't give anybody much of a chance to offer, now do you?"

"Point to the man with pink hair." He reached out to fingercomb the strands in question. The tousled mop glowed in a way only Shuuichi's haphazard dye jobs with over-the-counter products could achieve. NG's expensive stylists had found that out the hard way, when their carefully applied top of the line dyes went flat and dull. Haphazard glow. So quintessentially Shuuichi. "I want—I _always _wanted, I think, even from that first time I brought you home—to see your smile. To wallow in your laughter. Now...I still want you to be happy, but I want you safe, too. And I was the greatest danger. We dealt with a lot more than just smoking at the clinic, and I wish I could say I had the doctors' confidence that I'm ready to be here."

Yushu jumped suddenly free and Shuuichi sat back, crosslegged, tapping his index fingers together, the way he would when thinking. Finally: "How long have you been clean?"

He pressed his lips together, not wanting to confess that part, not wanting Shuuichi to know how long ago he _might_ have been back.

"Let's put it this way." Shuuichi revised, evidently sensing that truth. "How long since they wanted to kick you out?"

He chuckled. "That I can answer. I was admitted...what, six months ago? I'd say they probably wanted to kick me out five months and some twenty-nine days ago. The tobacco, the alcohol, those were the easy part, Shu. The rest...well, I had to deal with a lot of stupid crap."

The tapping paused, and without looking up: "Was I...part of that stupid crap?"

"Only in that I was trying to fathom why I ever treated you the way I did." He reached for Shuuichi's hands and held them, running his thumb across the blue veins and soft skin, curiously relieved, now the time had come, that he'd come home to such a sane, aware Shuuichi. "Can we go out to the couch, Shu? I...I have some explaining to do, and I don't think I can do it here, with you...like that."

Shuuichi stared at him, then freed his hands to cup Eiri's face for a gentle kiss, lips brushing lips.

"Hand me a robe, will you?"

✴✴✴

Shuuichi settled on the couch, curled against Yuki's side, a cup of Yuki-prepared hot chocolate cradled between his palms, Yuki's arm around his shoulders and Yuki's low voice drifting through the air above his head.

"There was so much...so damned much I never understood from that time, Shu. I knew, in the strange way of the terminally naïve, that I was somehow the source of controversy between Touma and Yuki. Not at first, of course: Touma would never have hired someone he didn't trust. Nittle Grasper was rising fast at that time, and Touma was often on the road or in Japan recording. When he was away, Yuki lived in Touma's New York apartment, my companion 24/7. Touma gave me a...shall we say generous expense account, and Yuki took full advantage of the opportunity. We had a tremendous time together. Museums, the theater, ballet...and he taught me to appreciate everything...from the theater and history to fine wine, good scotch and cigars—"

"But, you were just sixteen." Shuuichi objected, relieved, if he were honest, to have something to object to, resenting the hint of longing in Yuki's voice as he recounted those long-ago days with Kitizawa.

"Yuki had...interesting friends, Shu. My age wasn't an issue, the places he took me."

"Oh ..." he said, feeling very lost, having nothing in his own background that could begin to help him understand what Yuki must have seen and felt, all those years ago. He drained his mug, avoiding Yuki's eyes, wishing he were smart, wishing _he_ could have shared those things with Yuki, wishing—

He felt lips on his forehead and glanced up to find Yuki smiling down at him.

"I'd give anything," Yuki said softly, "to do it all again. Not the Scotch and cigar bars, but all the rest."

He drew away, hurt beyond all reason, and Yuki chuckled, drawing him close for a chaste kiss. "With _you_, baka. I'd love to show it all to you. Will you let me? Someday? Hopefully someday soon?"

Go to New York? To the museums and the plays? With _Yuki_?

Another of those warm chuckles and gentle fingers brushing the hair from his eyes that seemed frozen on Yuki's face.

"I'm warning you, it wouldn't be all fun and games. You'll have to learn English to appreciate the plays and musicals. You might have to wear a suit. Maybe even a tux."

He blinked at last and tears threatened. "I...I'll walk naked down Broadway, if it's..." His voice failed. He dropped the empty mug and twisted to wrap his arms around Yuki's neck, drawing Yuki down for another, not-so-chaste kiss. Yuki groaned and responded with interest. Soon, tears were the last thing on Shuuichi's mind.

"Shu..." Yuki's voice pierced the buzz in Shuuichi's ears. He whimpered, ignoring it, far too interested in the smooth chest currently occupying his two functioning neurons.

"Shu." Yuki's quiet, authoritative voice persisted, and Yuki's strong, big hands engulfed his, cutting him off from that skin he'd ached for for months. "This is important."

He pulled free and wrapped his arms around Yuki, squeezing as hard as he could, pressing his wet face into that beloved chest, gasping after breath, still not quite able to believe the man in his arms was real and not just one more empty dream.

Yuki said nothing more. Not with his voice. His hands traced a soothing path across the robe that still protected his back, and slowly, Shuuichi regained control, of his breathing and of his body. He sighed and curled up into Yuki's lap, unwilling to relinquish any more contact than absolutely necessary.

Yuki silently arranged the robe, an oversized Yuki-robe, back around him, and when he was hidden, Yuki's hand brushed his hair back and cupped his face, and Yuki kissed him gently, then whispered against his lips. "Where was I, baka?"

He shivered at the beloved insult that made so much right in the world, and whispered back: "Scotch and cigars."

"Right." Another brush of his lips, then Yuki's hand pressed his head to Yuki's chest, and Yuki's chin nestled lightly in his hair. "Yeah, I was underage, but I didn't think much of it. I still don't think, in principle, that it was a bad thing. At a time when most teenagers are faking ids and raiding their parents' liquor cabinet for kicks, Yuki was teaching me, among other things, how to drink responsibly. Single malt scotch and cigars were the in thing, at the time. I learned to drink slowly and savor the shifting flavors, and most importantly to stop when the flavors ceased to fascinate. It wasn't until...after...that the smoking and drinking began to rule my life."

"Why, Yuki?" He could barely manage a whisper, the question frightened him so much. Or rather, Yuki's probable reaction frightened. That reaction had prevented him asking for months, even before Yuki left—ever since Yuki told him about his dead tutor, but it had never made sense..."Why did he do such a thing? He was an employee. You were his charge. Surely he didn't think he could get away with it."

But his fears proved groundless. Yuki's arms held steady, his voice calm as he answered:

"Cut to the heart, don't you, my not-so-baka-brat? I don't know why I should be surprised...You've always seen me more clearly than anyone else. That's one of the things I believe I finally sorted out—at least to my own satisfaction. And the real reason I couldn't let it go, and the source of all the anger. The betrayal never made sense, so I could never just leave it behind in the past where it belonged."

A shiver rippled through Yuki and Shuuichi tightened his hold. A shaky breath rippled his hair and Yuki continued:

"In the hospital this time, I remembered details. Important details. Things that happened before...and after. Things I'd never linked before."

There was another pause and Shuuichi just waited. Talking about himself had never come easy to Yuki, and it appeared, despite all this time with the doctors, it was still difficult.

Fortunately, he thought, rubbing his face lightly against Yuki's throat, he had all the time in the world. Now.

Yuki continued, softly: "Touma came home a day early from a tour to find the two of us—Yuki and me—on the couch...rather like you and I are now, except...Yuki's head was in my lap. I was reading aloud...I believe it was a French novel, though I don't really remember...and Yuki...it's hard for me to recall because, much as I hate to admit it, I wasn't particularly aware of it, had his hand...well, where it didn't belong."

"Not...aware?"

He looked up, surprised, to meet Yuki's wry smile.

"I was...very naïve."

"More than I was when we met?"

"Impossible."

He stuck his tongue out and shivered with pleasure when Yuki chuckled and tried to grab it, but he knew then that Yuki was lying, that ignorant as he, Shuuichi, had been at nineteen, at sixteen, sheltered and privately tutored, young Uesugi Eiri must have been utterly unprepared for what his tutor had in store for him.

"What happened, Yuki? When Touma found you?"

"Nothing, really." Yuki's arm tightened around him. "I remember Touma thanking him for his services and asking him to leave, very quietly. I didn't think much of it, didn't realize at the time that the quieter Touma is, the more dangerous he is. It _was _rather late to be sending Yuki home, but he rarely spent the night when Touma was in town. No, it was the next day, when Yuki didn't show up for our regular class sessions, that I began to sense something was wrong. Touma began to talk about returning to Japan, that I was old enough now to handle the school system and that my family missed me. He began to talk about college and the future, and never once mentioned Yuki."

"He'd fired him?"

"Yeah. Should've been obvious, even to me, but I kept thinking Yuki was just taking a vacation, that everything would be back to normal in a week or two. Then, on the third day after Touma returned, a neighbor handed me a note, while I was out walking. It was from Yuki, asking me to meet him in the park."

"Your dream ..."

Yuki's chin nodded against his hair. "I was late. Touma had chosen that day to have lunch at home and to discuss the plans for returning to Japan. I ran to the park as soon as Touma went back to his office. Yuki was waiting for me, reading under the tree, same as always. I began to apologize, to explain I'd been with Touma. I knew, even though he kept that sweet, plastered-on smile, that he was upset. Probably because I'd never really seen it on his face before."

He felt Yuki's weight shift, leaned back to meet Yuki's warm...loving...gaze. "You know, my adorable, clueless baka, I think that's what I love most about you."

Shuuichi tipped his head in question.

"That Touma-smile. That perfect, polite smile that means...nothing. We're surrounded by it every day...and you couldn't wear one if you tried."

"Sure I could."

"Couldn't."

He turned his lips upward, squinted his eyes...and burst out laughing as he suddenly imagined himself in a mirror.

And wonder of wonder...Yuki was laughing with him.

He shut up, staring. Yuki kissed him quickly. Gently. And he remembered to blink.

"See what I mean?" Yuki whispered against his lips.

Shuuichi gulped, feeling his control waver, and ducked his head down against Yuki's chest to escape those softly glowing, _loving_ eyes. "Is that...is that when he took you to that place?"

"Yeah." Yuki's chest heaved in a long sigh. "He'd already been drinking. Had a bottle with him that he drank from as we walked. By the time we got there...he was pretty well plastered. Tried to get me to share another bottle, but some belated instinct kept me from accepting. I think...If I had...hell, I don't know what I'd've done. I've always had to be careful...very careful...with red wines and that one...gods it was cheap." A wry laugh interrupted Yuki's quiet voice. "Maybe if it hadn't been such foul-smelling stuff, I'd've joined him. Who knows? Anyway, I honestly believe that at one time he held me in some affection, but by that time I was reduced to a means of getting revenge on Touma, who had refused to give him a letter of recommendation, and had reported him to the authorities, and blackballed him with the agency through which he'd been hired."

"You never said anything about that before."

"I didn't know. I just finally pieced it together—all this fiction writing _hasn't _been wasted, I guess. Took me the better part of a decade, but I finally learned to add two and two and get crap. The clinic checked the agency for me and he's still in their record books: blackballed/deceased. Anything more was beyond the clinic's legal staff, so I'm still not certain I have the details right...someday maybe I'll actually ask Touma...but it's the only answer that makes sense, and one my gut seems content to accept. Selling me to those lowlifes was, I suspect, Yuki's means of totally humiliating me, of returning the ultimate in soiled goods to Touma. If it'd been him alone...hell, by that time, it would only have been rape in the eyes of the law. I'd've been in his arms in a heartbeat. Even if I hadn't fancied myself in love, I'd probably have run off with him, just to avoid going back to Japan."

"You hated Japan that much?" he asked softly, secretly filing that 'fancied myself in love' away in a special place in his heart. Yuki _hadn't _loved Kitizawa. Not really.

"I don't really know how to answer that, Shu. It's hard, now, to pull up the feelings, but I equated returning to Japan with leaving Yuki and the museums and the theater. All I remembered about Japan was the cruelty and bigotry that lurked behind every one of those plastered-on smiles."

"And...now? What...what did you remember this time? When you were in the American clinic?"

"Now?" He heard the smile in Yuki's voice. "Let me see. I remembered an annoying whine. Wet, clammy shirts."

"Yuki!" He punched the hard chest, and the smile turned into a warm chuckle, and Yuki's cheek pressed the top of his head.

"And smooth skin, an impossibly beautiful voice, humming above my head as I'm kissing that smooth skin. Ridiculous pink hair. Amethyst eyes." Yuki's hand beneath his chin urged him to lift his face. "And the most kissable mouth ever to taste of strawberry Pocky."

He stuck his tongue out again and Yuki's mouth closed over his, taking his tongue-tip into safe keeping. When Yuki lifted his head, Shuuichi realized he was humming.

"Told you," Yuki murmured, and Shuuichi giggled, as he felt the heat rise in his face. He lifted his hand and stroked Yuki's stubbled cheek.

"I...can't say I'm sorry, Yuki."

"What? That your lover was raped and turned into a murderer, all in the course of one rainy afternoon?"

"You know I don't mean that. But I'm not sorry that Yuki betrayed your trust instead of running away with you. I'm...I'm not even sure I regret the rest, though I feel very sorry for the boy you were and the pain you've lived with ever since."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"If you hadn't...gone through all that... how do I know you'd be...you? The Yuki I fell in love with, the Yuki I love, is the one who went through all that. I...don't know if I'd love a naïve, New York Yuki who didn't recognize a grope when it happened. I...I need the Yuki who became a novelist and thinks all those deep, dark thoughts, who writes characters people love and care about, but only lets _me_ truly care about _him_. I need the Yuki who can't keep his hands off me one minute and throws me out the door the next. —You do realize all my best songs come out of those moments? Where would I be if you were just...nice? And if you were...nice...you wouldn't've said those awful things in the park and I wouldn't have been _forced_ to go looking for you, and you'd never have insulted me and made me mad and kissed me and...all those things never would've happened if you'd been _nice._ You told me things I needed to hear...that I knew deep down inside were true. You made me admit that there was something more inside me to come out. You helped me find that and a Nice Yuki wouldn't have."

Yuki stared at him. Shuuichi chewed his lip, afraid he'd just made the biggest mistake of a mistake-filled life. Then, miraculously, Yuki hugged him very, very tight.

"I didn't think it was possible, brat," Yuki's voice whispered in his ear.

"Wh–what?"

"That anyone, _anyone_ could make me feel the way I do at the moment."

"H–how's that, Yuki?"

"Happy. Utterly, totally content with the person I am. That it truly all was for some wonderful reason."

"What reason?"

"You little brat. You really expect me to say it?"

"Huh?"

"You're impossible, you know that? You simply cannot possibly be real, more, you can't belong to me."

"Well, I am. And I do. So ..." He poked a finger into Yuki's sensitive ribs. "Explain! What reason?"

"You."

He stared at Yuki, realized his mouth was hanging open and shut it. Suddenly, it hit him. "_I'm_ your ..." What was it he'd said? "...wonderful reason?"

"All of my wonderful reasons. Gods, you're such a marvelous idiot." Those warm lips descended on his again and for a long while, he didn't care about much of anything else.

Finally, Yuki broke away, chuckling. "You do realize by now that the only reason I insulted you that night was because I'd had a lousy week at the computer."

"Huh?"

"You're so articulate." Yuki chuckled again and tapped him under the chin and he realized his mouth was back to hanging open. "The damned book was hopelessly stalled, so I took out my frustrations on the nearest target...your poor lyrics. Later, after you tried to destroy my car and hit me with the full Shuuichi treatment, the whole direction of the book shifted, the ending became _happy_, for crying out loud. _Your_ doing, that time, and damned if I was going to accept the change gracefully. So I insulted you again. But then, I began to like what the story was doing, where it was going...how it _felt_ to write it. I went to that damned concert of yours and your voice contaminated my soul forever. The writing began going _really _well—"

He giggled. "And you made love to me."

"Bingo."

✴✴✴ ✴✴✴ ✴✴✴

**Next Chapter:** Epilogue: Just Shut-up and Kiss Me.


	13. Just Shut Up and Kiss Me

**Disclaimer:** These beautiful boys belong to Maki Murakami. Isn't it nice of her to share?

**A/N:** The translation of 'Anti-Nostalgic' used here is almost entirely the work of Risu Chan, with a few alterations for English grammar.

✴✴✴  
**Yushu  
**Epilogue:  
**Just Shut-up and Kiss Me  
**✴✴✴

Why had he ever worried?

Sitting on the familiar comfort of the leather couch, his lap full of cuddling Shuuichi, Eiri wondered why in hell he'd ever run scared—yes, scared—of this reunion. The one reliable constant in his life had always been Shu's unshakeable belief in him.

Belief. Even more than love. Shuuichi believed in a Yuki only he had seen. Believed in a love only he had sensed. And in the end, Shuuichi's reality would prevail. Shuuichi would settle for nothing less.

_I need the Yuki ...who writes characters people love and care about, but only lets me truly care about him. _

He hoped, he truly hoped, Shuuichi finally understood just how true that was. What he'd revealed tonight, he could only have told Shuuichi. Oh, he'd shown his journal to the doctors at the clinic. They'd asked questions and he'd...grunted. He'd never simply...talked as he had tonight. Likely never would again, for all he planned otherwise.

Shuuichi deserved to hear, at least once in a while, just how very special he was, not to his fans, not to Hiro, but to the man to whom he'd so thoroughly committed all those years ago. And he'd try, damned if he wouldn't, but realistically, he knew it was, at least in part, months of deprivation, relief and sheer exhaustion behind this late night confession.

At the very least, he'd finish that autobiography. He'd give it to Shuuichi on the next anniversary of their meeting in the park—

Fuck. He'd just given _himself _a deadline.

But he would. He'd give it to him along with a dedication, a very special dedication.

And with that thought, he made another silent promise: PDA would no longer be strictly off-limits, though he didn't dare actually tell Shuuichi that...if they wanted to avoid arrest.

"Um...Yuki?" Shuuichi's lilting query broke the silence.

"Yeah, brat?"

A small hand wormed its way up between them to the narrow 'v' of exposed skin at his neck, stopping at the first closed button.

"How's the writing been going?"

He stifled a chuckle, knowing where this was headed.

"Can't complain."

The button came free, the finger wormed its way slowly to the next.

"How was the flight over?"

"Long."

Another button slipped through its hole, and that wandering finger made it all the way over to a nipple. Eiri stifled a gasp as the inevitable below-the-belt stirrings returned.

"Did you get some sleep?"

"Not much," he answered a bit breathlessly. "I was pretty worried."

The wandering finger paused.

"I'm...sorry, Eiri. I'm so sor—"

Eiri pressed a finger to those tempting lips stopping the apology midstream.

"Never, Shu."

Purple eyes questioned above the silenced mouth, and Eiri's loose-tongued exhaustion gave Shu another truth:

"Never apologize for following your heart. Those instincts of yours are my lifeline. My reality check. Without them...without you—"

Horror welled as memories of the worst days of the past seven months came into sharp focus, and he pulled Shuuichi close, pressing his lips hard against that welcoming, oh-so-precious mouth. When his taste buds had reassured his gut that he was, in fact, back where he belonged, he eased his grip and urged Shu's head back down to his chest, removing the immediate temptation. It was this, above all else, Shu had to know.

"You saved me, Shu. You and those instincts that made you trust...whatever it was you saw in me...brought me back to life. Trust them. Treasure them. I do."

A sniffle happened, somewhere around his collar bone.

"I love you, Yuki."

"I know."

He waited, but the question he'd courted quite deliberately with those two simple words never came. "Don't you want me to say it?"

He felt Shuuichi smile against his chest. "You just did."

So, his wasn't the only psyche that had done some serious maturing in the past seven months.

"I do, you know," he said, smiling across the top of the pink head.

"Yeah. I do."

He wondered if time would eliminate the need to say even that much aloud, and vowed again not to let that happen, not to allow his taciturn nature to rule their lives.

And not just for Shuuichi's sake. He loved hearing those three simple words—when they came out of Shuuichi's mouth.

That curious finger resumed its wandering path.

"But...you did get _some _sleep, right?"

Persistent little devil. "Mmm...hmmm."

The buttons were now open all the way to his tailored waistband. Shuuichi's weight shifted; he twisted to straddle Eiri's thighs, freeing both hands to pull the shirt free of its careful tuck, sliding his warm fingers inside, around Eiri's ribs and up Eiri's back, leaning in to nuzzle Eiri's neck, trending dangerously close to his ultra-sensitive right ear.

"Enough?" Came on a soft breath into that vulnerable organ.

A shiver went down Eiri's spine and straight to his groin.

Eiri chuckled, and instead of answering, shifted his hold on his pint-sized lover, cupping his deliciously round butt to hold him steady, protecting his growing hard-on as he lurched up from the couch.

Shuuichi, with a satisfied giggle, helped, shoving against the back of the couch with his feet before wrapping his legs securely around Eiri's waist, distributing his weight perfectly as Eiri headed for the bedroom.

He eased his brat down onto the bed, one hand supporting the pink head all the way to the pillow, a move that caused Shu to rise onto his elbows and stare at him in wonder. But it wasn't a time for tossing, for setting a bouncing Shu to giggling like a loon. Oh, he loved that Shu, perhaps most of all, but something in him wanted—needed—this moment to be different.

Special.

And Shuuichi, with those nearly infallible instincts, responded accordingly. As Eiri released him and straightened to let his shirt slip from his shoulders, Shu rolled smoothly to his knees to help, quite solemnly, with his slacks. Eiri stood quietly as Shuuichi eased first the hook, then the button free and slowly moved the zipper down. Eiri held his breath as his little lover's expert fingers gently worked both slacks and shorts past the rapidly expanding bulge, then let them fall in a puddle to the floor around Eiri's feet.

Shuuichi paused, small hands balanced on Eiri's hips, and traced the exposed skin with warm, breathy kisses before sliding his hands upward, his fingertips finding and exploring each and every contour of Eiri's body.

Like a sculptor, checking for flaws.

"I was wrong," Shuuichi's whisper barely reached his ears. "I'd begun to think I'd made it all up." That sweet mouth began to follow the fingers. "I couldn't believe anyone could possibly be so perfect as I remembered." He rose to his knees, stretching as tall as he could to face Eiri directly. "But I was wrong. You're more beautiful than..."

His eyes clouded as they focused on the tears that fractured Eiri's view of him and he leaned to kiss them away, his hands balancing lightly on Eiri's shoulders. Once the tears were gone, that feather soft touch slid slowly down Eiri's arms, still exploring each muscle, as Shuuichi began to lie back.

Fingers reached fingers and Eiri stepped free of the fabric puddle as Shuuichi drew him down onto the bed with him, his legs spreading naturally to accommodate Eiri's knees.

Echoing Shuuichi's careful removal of his clothing, Eiri pulled the robe's belt free, and fold by fold unwrapped the slight, but decidedly male body that had haunted his dreams for months.

He supposed everyone had their own definition of perfect. His own had changed the day a fateful wind blew a stray piece of paper into his face.

For a moment, he denied his fingers the right to act on that desire to reclaim the smooth skin they knew so very intimately. For a moment, he simply reveled in the pain of anticipation.

God, he was beautiful. Eiri's throat tightened. Beautiful and all his. He always had been, in ways most people couldn't even dream of.

His tiny guiding light. His guardian angel.

His muse.

Non-artists, like that psychiatrist in charge of the clinic, couldn't begin to understand the link between an artist and his muse. Shuuichi had singlehandedly given his stories a new... humanity. It was a gift no normal person could understand. Because Shuuichi had trusted him, he'd learned to trust himself and to put those feelings into his characters, long before he'd learned to expose himself to the one he loved most.

When the muse was also a soul mate—and yes, he was willing to admit at last, Shuuichi was that for him, the missing pieces and the glue to bond the shards of his soul—when those two elements came in one sweetly perfect package, there were no words to describe the pain of separation.

As he'd told the therapist: writers faced life through their writing. Shuuichi had forced him, from the start, to acknowledge life on a scale he'd never imagined.

Because he'd been afraid.

Shuuichi...didn't know the meaning of the word. No...that wasn't true. Even now, Shuuichi was staring at him, silently, a bit apprehensively, sensing this moment was special, afraid, as he so often was, of doing something wrong.

No, it wasn't that Shuuichi was never afraid, it was that Shuuichi...wasn't afraid of being afraid.

That...was a phenomenal gift.

Possibly, probably, he should reassure him again, but that was part of Shuuichi, too, that self-doubt that made him a positive guilt sponge. And so, he hesitated to reassure too much. That doubt only enhanced Shu's magic. It made him vulnerable, hurt him as often as it helped, yet he always rebounded, remained positive. Possibly because of that doubt.

Who knew? It was an equation far too delicate and complex to question. Whatever made Shuuichi so resilient, it worked and in the process of surviving, he gave every person around him...hope.

Including, and perhaps especially, the cowardly author who adored him.

The one thing that cowardly author could do, now and at last, was to love his precious muse, utterly and completely, the way he deserved to be loved.

Having drunk, temporarily, his visual fill, Eiri leaned forward to capture that worried mouth with his own, and as it would, the uncertainty vanished between one heartbeat and the next. Shuuichi found, had always found, his real answers in Eiri's kisses.

_Just...kiss me._ How often had he heard that? He could talk himself blue in the face, could tell Shu things he'd never told anyone else as he had tonight, but all the words in the universe hadn't the power of one kiss.

Not where it came to Shuuichi.

What mattered to Shuuichi was not the words, not the details of the story, but the fact that his Yuki had been willing to tell him.

What mattered to Eiri was that he'd been able to tell him.

He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, invading the mouth that opened so willingly to accept him.

Shuuichi never had expressed himself particularly well with words. His lyrics, combined with the soul he gave them when he sang, barely scratched the surface of his feelings. But then, words were utterly inadequate to express the depth of Shuuichi's feelings.

Or his, Eiri suddenly realized. He couldn't say _I love you_ because love wasn't what he felt for Shuuichi. It was, somehow, too small a concept.

He let his fingers travel that smooth skin, giving in at long last to the need that had forced them out onto the couch in the first place. He followed the fingers with his mouth, leaving a damp trail down Shuuichi's neck.

That perfect chest heaved, and on a sighing whisper, Shuuichi began to sing.  
✴  
_Toumei ga yozora somete _(Dawn's light dyes the night sky,)  
_Hitori aruku itsumo no kaerimichi_ (I walk alone on the road that always leads home.)  
✴  
The voice that could fill a stadium formed a small, magical cocoon in their bedroom; the lilting melody was one he'd never heard before.  
✴  
_Kuchizusamu konna kimochi _(Singing to myself, I want to send these feelings)  
_Nemuru kimi ni todoketai na_ (to you in your sleep)  
✴  
Gentle fingers wove through Eiri's hair, brushing it back, a finger-full at a time. He tilted his head up to find hooded purple eyes looking at him. The soft voice continued:  
✴  
_Nanika ni obieteru jibun ga chotto iya ni naru  
_(I'm tangled up in something; I'm getting a little sick of myself)  
_Tsugeru omoi torinokoshita hibi ni...  
_(tangled up in the feelings of those days that have been left behind...)  
✴  
It didn't take a genius to know what had inspired this song. It was Shuuichi's way of telling him what he'd suffered in the past six months, accusation and absolution in one ear-caressing package.  
✴  
_Dokoka ni wasureteru kokoro ga chotto itakunaru  
_(The heart I've forgotten somewhere is starting to hurt a little.)  
_Toki wo tsunagu hoshi no yoru ni kimi wo sagashiteru  
_(I keep searching for you in a night lit by the stars that are bound to that time.)  
✴  
I searched for you, too, he answered, in the silent language of a touch, as he caressed that curiously broad, singer's chest with fingers and mouth. I needed you, yet you were always there, weren't you?  
✴  
_Toozakaru kumo ni nosete  
_(I place my feelings on the receding clouds)  
_Boku no kimochi tachidomaru kaerimichi  
_(on the road home, where I pause to stand.)  
✴  
Eiri worked his way slowly down that sweetly responsive body, Shuuichi's fingers moving with him, light touches drifting from hair to ears to shoulders and back again. I never doubted you, Shindou Shuuichi, not really. Never once, in all our time together, did your belief in me waver. Would that I could have given you the same confidence in the strength of my feelings.

He'd tried, in that letter, but no one knew better than he how much Shuuichi had needed that reassurance in some form other than words, particularly words on paper.

And so, he'd left him the rose, a rose that even now rested, perfectly preserved under a glass dome, on the bedside table.  
✴  
_Kimi wa mou yume no tsuzuki  
_(You are already a part of my continuing dreams;)  
_Todoku hazu mo nai koto da to wakatteiru  
_(I know that those feelings can't possibly reach you from here.)  
✴  
That exquisite voice faded mid-note. The gentle fingers stilled.

Again, he looked up to find the slim brows above those expressive eyes puckered in thought.

"What?" Eiri asked gently, and then, thinking Shu might be awaiting his reaction: "It's beautiful. Won't you finish?"

The hooded eyes sparkled with gathering tears. One escaped to trail down his softly rounded cheek.

"That's all there is..." A blink, and the tears fell free. But surprisingly, none formed to take their place. Instead, those eyes opened, gazing beyond Eiri with a faraway look, that look that said Shuuichi's own muse was hard at work. Then, slowly, almost on a whisper:  
✴  
_Namida ga koboreteru egao ga chotto hoshikunaru  
_(The tears keep falling; just by being able to be close to you.)  
_kimi no soba ni ireru dake de boku wa...  
_(I'm starting to want to smile, just a little...)  
_Dareka ga toikakeru rikutsu ga motto hoshikunaru  
_(Someone asks questions; I'm starting to want this to make more sense.)  
_kieru kage ni mabushisugita hibi wo utsushiteru  
_(You cast those too-brilliant days into a fading shadow.)  
✴  
_Nanika ni obieteru jibun ga chotto iya ni naru  
_(I'm tangled up in something; I'm getting a little sick of myself)  
_Tsugeru omoi torinokoshita hibi ni...  
_(tangled up in the feelings of those days that have been left behind...)  
_Dokoka ni wasureteru kokoro ga chotto itakunaru  
_(The heart I've forgotten somewhere is starting to hurt a little.)  
_Toki wo tsunagu hoshi no yoru ni kimi wo sagashiteru  
_(I keep searching for you in a night lit by the stars that are bound to that time.)  
✴  
Again, the voice faded, this time with a note of gentle finality. Eiri stared up at him afraid to move, afraid of this sudden, somber mood.

And then, an impossibly sweet smile appeared on Shuuichi's face and Shuuichi's small hands urged Eiri back up for another, soul-sharing kiss, and then, against his lips, Shuuichi whispered, "Make love to me, Yuki Eiri? Make the last of the hurt go away?"

Eiri answered in the language they both spoke best.

✴✴✴

At the foot of the bed, two large golden eyes gleamed in the early morning light.

"Hello, Demon Cat," Eiri murmured, and the rest of Yushu appeared over the edge to perch, calmly watching. Then, as if deciding it was safe, padded his way up Shu's far side. At Shu's back, he began clawing at the covers.

Shu, muttering something inarticulate, but welcoming, shifted in Eiri's arms to face the cat and lifted the covers. Yushu wormed up and around and down into the cavern, where he settled, pressing close to Shu's chest, just above Eiri's arms, his round head finding the pillow in front of Shuuichi's nose.

His place in their family bed, as it had been since that first night.

Shuuichi murmured approvingly, wrapping his arms around the cat.

Eiri chuckled and tightened his own hold on his own kitten.

"G'night, Yuki," Shu mumbled and Eiri pressed his lips to the back of Shu's head.

"G'night, Shu-chan."

And from the far side of Shuuichi, rose a deep rumbling: Yushu's approving purr.

FIN

✴✴✴ ✴✴✴ ✴✴✴

✴✴✴ ✴✴✴

✴✴✴

✴

**A/N:** That's it, folks. I hope you all like it.

My humble thanks again to everyone for the enthusiastic support of this story. I didn't know what to expect when I put it up and you've all been absolutely terrific. Big big big Shu-hugs to you all.


End file.
